Destiny and Duty
by Gwen6
Summary: (COMPLETED) The Bhaalspawn, Kathryn, has ascended. Nalia de'Arnise has returned to Amn, to reclaim her inheritance, and mark her destiny upon the Sword Coast...
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One: Return**

_The de'Arnise lands, 11 Uktar, 1369 DR_

 The storm clouds gathered in the sky above, announcing the worst of the autumn rains. A low rumbling of thunder resounded through the sky, combined with the near-sizzling sounds of the falling rains. A whipping of wind churned the pale grass into swirling movement, making the fields resemble more a deep ocean.

 Three riders appeared on a distant hill, barely standing out against the swiftly darkening sky. Slightly ahead, and in the centre, one of the three was a woman, whose pale yellow mage robes could be seen with every movement of her heavy cloak in the wind.

 The wind tore her hair violently to one side- long, light brown hair. Her eyes were a deep brown, holding compassion, but showing obvious power. Rain dripped slowly down her cheeks, cold and tickling.

 Nalia de'Arnise.

 She sighed, and turned to face the man on her right, a heavy-set warrior with a two-handed sword strapped to his back. His face was covered by a helmet that looked rather the worse for wear. 

 Turning from that man, she faced her left, and nodded once to another warrior. This warrior wore a blue tunic that glimmered with an embroidered harp of silver. Two long swords were thrust into a white silk sash around his waist, and a golden harp was bound to his back by another sash of white. 

 The three stood there for a moment, staring in the distance. With another long sigh, Nalia said, "Shall we continue, gentlemen? I for one do not wish to spend much longer in the icy rain."

 With a low chuckle from the man on her right and solemn silence from the man on her left, Nalia leaned forward, nudging her horse. Responding to her movement, the horse leaped forwards, plunging through the empty field. The thudding of iron-shod hooves told her that the two men on either side were following.

 The land they passed through as they rode seemed in ill repair. Broken fences littered the place, along with the remnants of fallen walls. There was evidence of crops grown wild and left, and weeds springing in fields that had once been well-tilled.

 The further they rode, the more they saw of disrepair.

 Tears from Nalia's brown eyes mingled with the rain, as she realised that her land had turned into a wilderness, untamed. She had seen few farmhouses, and most of those had fallen apart.

 Six months gone, and this was how her land now looked.

 Nalia saw the familiar rise of a tall hill, and knew that once she reached the top, she would be able to see her keep. Despite the ruin of her lands, she could not hide the enthusiasm she felt at returning to her home. 

 She shrieked with happiness, releasing all the excitement that had built up during her long journey here. When she reached the top of the hill, she was still shrieking. That shriek swiftly turned to dumbfounded silence.

 From her vantage point, she could see the keep. Along the walls, the bodies of guards were staked. Gnolls and goblins could be seen, patrolling with their weapons held closely. The crude flags bearing the symbols of their tribes flapped wildly in the storm winds. 

 Again.

 Her home had fallen to evil once again.

 Nalia whispered a prayer to Mystra under her breath, and then, as an afterthought, added one to her friend who now resided in the heavens alongside the gods. 

 Six months ago, she had gone to Athkatla, seeking aid because of the trolls and vile yuan-ti that had seized the keep. Now, mere months later, goblins and gnolls held it. 

 She had been prepared to deal with the intrigue of Isaea Roenall, who had seized the keep from her. She was not prepared to deal with humanoid invaders. In a fury, she didn't notice when her two companions caught up with her until one of them said, in a gruff voice, "Gods… what is this? Roenall had possession of this place not three weeks back, mistress, I swear. I left them when I heard that you were coming. How could goblins have taken this place?"

 Nalia shrugged, "I know not, Cernick. But they will not hold it for long. I'll be damned if I let such filth walk within my walls. Tomas... will you be prepared to fight alongside me?"

 The silent man stared at her for a moment, then nodded. Nalia smiled, and was about to speak a thank you, when Tomas spoke. His voice was musical and vibrant. "For a friend of the Harpist, I would lay down my life."

 The lady de'Arnise bowed her head. "Thank you, Tomas."

 Tomas Aelon had only met her a month ago. He had sought her out in the city of Saradush, only days after her friend had ascended to godhood. The claim he made was incredible. He was a bard, and an agent of the Harpers, who had been visited in a dream by a weak entity- a new god.

 It hadn't taken Nalia long to work out that the new god he talked about was actually Kathryn, who was trying to gather worshippers to herself. Tomas was, at present, the only worshipper of Kathryn besides Nalia. He had named himself the leader of her church.

 Nalia had a great respect for him. It took unshakeable faith to trust an apparition in a dream, even if it did claim to be a god. She sighed, and forced herself to return to the present, and her captured keep. 

* * * 

 The full violence of the storm was unleashed, and Nalia watched as the indistinct, blurred shapes of the enemy hastened off the walls, most of them going indoors, a few positioning themselves under cover.

 She nodded.

 Now was the perfect time. 

 The enemy would not expect anyone to attack during such a heavy storm.

 Quickly murmuring the words of a teleport spell, she willed herself and her companions onto the wall. The rushing of air filled her ears, followed by a dimmed flash of light. 

 Nalia smiled.

 They now stood on the wall.

 After a quick signal, Tomas muttered the words of an invisibility spell that allowed Cernick to fade from sight. Nalia concentrated on allowing herself to fade into the shadows, knowing that Tomas was now chanting an invisibility spell for himself.

 Nalia moved forward, towards a distant gnoll, who stood, half-sheltered from the wind and rain, in the shadow of a tower. Readying her dagger, heavily enchanted and flickering with blue light, Nalia moved until she stood directly behind the gnoll.

 Strike.

 The word thrummed through her mind, and her muscles shivered as she thrust the knife deep into the back of the gnoll. The dagger, enchanted with a ward of silence, stopped the creature from alerting the rest of the keep as it died. Nodding once, Nalia faded into the shadows again, just as she opened the door that led into the tower.

 She knew that Tomas and Cernick would be following. She had cast an enchantment that would allow them to sense in what direction she was moving. 

 Walking down cracked stone steps, and past discarded bones, she realised just how badly her keep had been treated, first by the Roenalls, and then by the gnolls and goblins.

 Continuing to walk down the tower, she stopped, squinting into a bright room. About twenty goblins sat around tables, chattering in their strange language. Nalia could understand most of what they were saying, though it did not amount to anything except curses and crude jokes.

 Moving closer to the walls, so that shadows hid her, Nalia whispered a spell with the ease of an archmage's skill, and sent an invisible bolt sliding into the room. There was a faint rushing sound, and then the noise of the goblins talking faded to nothing.

 Before anyone could see her, Nalia faded into the shadows once again. She could see the puzzled expressions of the goblins as they tried to talk then realised that now sound was leaving their mouth.

 One started moving towards the door that Nalia knew led into the kitchen, and, so quickly that it sounded like insane gibberish, she spoke the words of a spell, and sent a fireball churning through the air. It struck in the centre of the room, and fire flashed.

 Heat washed over her, and Nalia felt her skin tighten in painful reaction. Where there should have been the screaming of dying goblins, she just heard the sounds of the storm outside.

 Waiting for a long while as the flames died down, leaving thin traces of smoke, Nalia moved into the room. Holding her nose at the sickly smell of burned flesh, she spoke quietly, "Cernick, Tomas… if you go through that door, you will enter the kitchens. Once in the kitchens, you can begin moving through this floor, killing all the creatures infesting it. I will move downwards to the ground floor. By the time I have finished there, you will have finished here… we can then tackle the basement, if there are any creatures there."

 She heard the words of Tomas, faintly distorted, as he said, "Good plan, Nalia. We will meet you at the stairs to the basement."

 Nalia watched as the door to the kitchens opened, and the closed. Satisfied, she turned and opened the last door remaining in the room, and walked downwards, with her head bowed. It would be a long night.

* * * 

 A weary Nalia met with the now-visible, battleworn Tomas and Cernick. The bard held his two glowing swords firmly- they were coated with the blood of the fallen. Cernick's two-handed sword pulsed faintly, looking as clean as ever.

 All around them, the putrid stench of dead gnolls and goblins… all around them the acrid tint of smoke… all around them the shivering aftertaste of magic in the air. All around them, a faint, barely perceptible darkness that was slowly gaining strength the closer they came to the basement.

 The feeling of powerful evil made Nalia feel worried. She had faced things of this power before, but that had been far from her lands, and only in Saradush and the surrounding lands. Such potent evil did not belong in her part of Amn, and she intended to see it defeated.

 But how, when she had no idea what it was?

 And how, when she had seen evidence of its power in the room just beside where she stood now? 

 The audience hall.

 The audience hall, bathed in blood. Isaea Roenall, nailed to the walls. His guardsmen, tongues torn out and tied around their necks. Legs bent backwards and staked to tables. Such hideous cruelty. 

 The thing that worried Nalia most about the cruelty though, was the fact that none of it had been done by the goblins and gnolls. According to one goblin she had captured alive, the humans themselves had done it.

 But why?

 And who?

 Those questions would soon be answered.

 "Nalia…"

 Cernick sounded sick, and she was not surprised. He was the captain of the de'Arnise guard, experienced in protecting the lands from bandits. He was not used to the sickening slaughter of humans.

 She faced him squarely, "Cernick. We must grasp our courage for this. What lies in the darkness below will be horrifying, terrible, no doubt… but know this. I have faced worse. I have faced the might of a crazed woman drunk on the power of murder. I have stared into the eyeballs of dragons, and seen their glittering desire for slaughter. Whatever darkness lies here, shall be turned aside by my light. This I swear, by the spells of Mystra herself."

 Tomas murmured quietly, "The music of the Harpist shall sing through these halls, and make them great once more. With magic and music, what evil can stand?"

 Nalia felt a shifting movement of the evil, from below them, to… alongside them. She turned rapidly, moving her hands in intricate designs. Her words froze, however, when she stared into the eyes of the evil thing itself.

 It was a young girl.

* * * 

 "Plenty of evil can stand against music and magic, bard… more evil than you can imagine. I will show you the truth of this, right after I speak with the high-born lady Nalia. It has been a long time."

 Nalia frowned. This girl, with blood dripping from her lips, and bearing a dagger crafted from bone… she had never seen her before. With lips parched and dry from fear and revulsion, she rasped, "I… I do not know you, child. Listen to me, whatever evil holds you… it can be renounced. The gods are forgiving, they love us, all they need is our faith."

 The girl laughed. "Stow it, Nalia. Let me enlighten you. The gods aid us only when it concerns them. Even your great Mystra acts in her best interests, and not in the best interests of humanity. And let me show you who I am, high-born lady. Remember in Athkatla, six months ago? In the slaver compound in the Slum District. You and your friend rescued me from the slavers, and gave me gold to escape the city."

 Recognition flared within Nalia, and she remembered the innocent girl who they had saved from the trolls within the compound. How could that girl have changed into something so hideous? Once blue eyes were now deep black, and her blonde hair was matted with dirt and dried blood.

 "You recognise me now, don't you, Nalia?"

 Nalia nodded. "How…?"

 A shriek of laughter. "The woman wants to know how! What fun! Shall I show you, Nalia? Shall I show you how the madness entered my mind? Shall I tell how the prince of lies claimed my soul?"

 Tomas advanced, and Nalia noticed that his hands now held his golden harp, and strummed the sting lightly. "You will not spread your madness to us, girl. I pity you for falling to the prince of lies, but I will not allow you to claim our sanity. Listen, child… listen, and perhaps this will help."

 The light strumming grew in volume, changing gradually into a beautiful song- a strange combination of a tavern ditty and a solemn romantic epic. Nalia blinked back a tear, as she saw the child stare dumbfounded at the harp.

 The confusion in the eyes of the girl flashed away in an instant though, turning instead to contorted rage. She leapt towards Tomas, with her dagger held high. The bard took a step backwards, and his playing faltered, but only for a moment.

 Nalia, with speed born of instinct, blasted the child with a solid bolt of flame. She crumpled, and fell to the floor. Tomas did not stop playing once, instead moving until he stood beside the girl, who, if her gasping breaths were anything to go by, was dying.

 "The prince of lies will claim your minds, hearken to his words, servants of goodness. Listen to the cry of madness itself!"

 The girl opened her mouth to cry out, but Cernick pierced her chest with his sword before she could doom their sanity. As the girl coughed up blood, Nalia saw the sudden appreciation for the music that played at Tomas' fingertips. Crying with grief, the wizard de'Arnise whispered, "Kathryn, guard her soul…"


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two: The Harpist**

_The Realms of the Dead, 11 Uktar, 1369 DR_

 Kathryn stirred, hearing Nalia call out to her from Faerûn. Her consciousness, while not as far-reaching as that of the more powerful gods was still great enough to sense a call for aid. And as she concentrated on the call, she brought to mind what had happened on the mortal plane- for the mind of Tomas was open to her, as the only one of her faithful.

 She saw the madness of the girl, placed by Cyric. But she also saw the last appreciation for the music that she had experienced. Moved, Kathryn cast herself through the cosmos, and sent out a call. That call was answered swiftly, and her appeal for entrance to the realms of the dead was granted.

 Appearing in the centre of Kelemvor's stronghold, Kathryn bowed at the god with his silver mask, and clad in dark robes. He nodded his head, and murmured, "You asked to see me, Kathryn. What is it that you wish?"

 The Harpist sighed, "A girl."

 Kelemvor raised an eyebrow. "I know the girl of whom you speak. She lived her later life as a disciple of Cyric, spreading madness and even invoking the god at times. You know I cannot give her over to you."

 Kathryn frowned. "I believe you can. Whether you will or not, is the question here, Kelemvor. She died with her madness gone, cured by the music of the harp and by my servant who carried it."

 The God of the Dead said simply, "But she did not pray to you at the end, did she?"

 With a frown, Kathryn asked, "What constitutes a prayer? The formulaic expression of faith is not the only thing we draw power from. We gain power from the souls of the faithful. When the child died, I felt her faith. A goddess of my limited power cannot help but notice when somebody appeals to me, even in the silence of their souls."

 Kelemvor stood. "This is easily solved. If she cries out for you whilst she is on the Fugue Plain, then you may gain her loyalty. But if she cries out for Cyric or does not cry out at all, then you may not."

 Kathryn laughed. "It is not as simple as that, and you know it. If it comes to a confrontation, Cyric could snap his fingers and see me dead in an instant. If I am to battle his claim over this soul, then I need support. The support that only you can give."

 The God of the Dead laughed, "Believe me, Kathryn. If the soul cries for you, then rest assured that you will be able to take her. Cyric will not interfere in the ordering of my realm, and if he tries, then he will regret it."

 Smiling, the new goddess bowed. "My thanks, Kelemvor. I will go to the Fugue Plain then, to claim the soul that is due to me." 

 And she disappeared.

* * * 

 On the Fugue Plain, the girl wandered, passing the Faithful who were crying out for their gods. She saw the servants of Lathander, Mystra, Cyric, Loviatar… all the gods. There was a flash of light, and a gleaming servant of Mystra appeared. With cries of joy, the Faithful of the goddess were taken from the plain.

 Eloise felt different.

 Gone was the madness. Instead she could see things with a clarity that surprised her. What had done this? What had driven away the madness? With the thought, the memory of her death came to her. She saw the wizard lady, and the bard with the shining sword and…

 His harp.

 Tears came to her eyes as she remembered the music. How she wanted to hear more of the music… but could she? After all the evils she had commited, whilst gripped by madness, could she still ask for the aid of Oghma, the God of Bards.

 No, a voice whispered in her head. Not Oghma.

 But who?

 Not Cyric. He had not music in his realms of madness and strife. Eloise had lived a life of strife. She had no wish to live a death of it as well. Stumbling now through the press of souls, Eloise grew panicked.

 What if she could call on no-one?

 No. She was not Faithless. At the last, she had prayed with her soul. At the last, she had begged to hear the harp. But who did she beg? Which god would have heard her prayer? 

 Above her, appeared a massive figure. Cyric. The god of strife stared directly at her, and beckoned. She felt the familiar madness, but was aware that the madness was no longer within her, but outside. Not Cyric.

 She would never declare her faith for Cyric.

 And then beside Cyric, appeared a woman, who carried in her hands a golden harp that played such sweet music. Tears came to Eloise, as the woman beckoned. She took a step forward, and opened her mouth, but not words came out.

 She did not know who this goddess was.

 Oghma ruled the bards. Surely he should, by default, rule the harps? Obviously not, if what she saw was real. She heard the roar of Cyric drown out the sound of the harps easily, and saw the woman blasted aside.

 "Kathryn! What right have you to take this soul?"

 The woman stood, and continued to strum on her harp. "Every right, Cyric. This child died with the love of the harp in her soul, and with a prayer to the patron of the harp whispered through the cosmos. Need I remind you, Cyric, that I am the Lady of Harps? Surely you must know the place of things in the heavens, or have you been reading the Cyrinishad again, and tricked yourself. You are not the God of Harps, Cyric. Sorry to disappoint you terribly."

 The God of Strife roared again, but this time the woman disappeared, reappearing beside Eloise. She whispered, with a musical, vibrant voice, "Eloise, come. You have heard my name. All you need to do is call it."

 Cyric towered above them both. "Girl, you have been mine for your life! Call my name, and live with the madness you have spread forever! You know what the right thing to do is! You have no love for music! Call my name!"

 Eloise wept, but Kathryn held out her hand. Harp song filled her ears, and the girl smiled suddenly, seeing with impressive clarity what she had to do. Bowing before the goddess, she cried, "Lady of Harps! Kathryn! Deliver me from exile, take me to the lulling melodies of your realm! Save me from madness that corrupts music! Delver me from strife that destroys harp song!"

 And it was done.

* * * 

 _House of Harps, 11 Uktar, 1369 DR_

 Eloise stood before her, clad in pale pink robes, and wearing a happy smile on her face. Kathryn gestured with one hand, and after a while, a golden harp appeared, shivering, in the air beside the girl.

 "Take it, Eloise. Take it, and experience the delight of harp-song."

 The girl, with quivering hands, took the harp, and slowly touched a finger to the strings. The room echoed the single note, and, as if commanded by one touch, distant, invisible harps started to play. 

 Eloise touched another string, and yet more harps echoed the touch. Tears came to her eyes again, and Kathryn smiled. "Eloise, is not harp song beautiful? Rejoice, first of my Faithful, for not even the power of Strife and Madness could shatter your music, the music in the depths of your soul."

 A snarl filled the room. "It is a soul that should belong to me."

 Wreathed in flame, Cyric appeared, his eyes glinting fiercely. A discordant note started to snap the strings of the distant harps. He grinned. Frowning, Kathryn moved both her hands through the air, touching each individual harp that played unseen. The discordant note ended, and broken strings knitted together once again.

 "I bid you welcome, Cyric. Please don't break my harps. I am not as powerful as you, and it is annoyingly hard to restructure my stronghold. Thought of course, as strong as you are, I still gained the loyalty of this dear girl, who has brought such music to my ears."

 Cyric glowered. "I could crush you like a worm."

 Kathryn smiled sweetly, "But to do so would bring the wrath of numerous gods. You have no right to dictate which gods live or die so capriciously. I know Mystra would not appreciate your destruction of anyone who stands up to you."

 The God of Strife growled in anger, "How I wish I had killed you while you still walked the Realms. I can sense you becoming a grave annoyance."

 The Harpist giggled, "Oh, please. You wouldn't have been able to kill me. At the beginning, your agents were too bumbling to defeat me… remember Mulahey in the mines of Nashkel? He was laughable. And towards the end…" She peered at her fingernails. "Towards the end, even you feared to appear with your full might. So whatever you could have done, I would still stand here. How does it feel to know that you were powerless to stop me?"

 Cyric took a step forward. "I am not powerless now, though. The power you gained through the Bhaalspawn taint will sustain you for only so long. Eventually, you will fade. And even more quickly will you fade if that bard and the wizard die before they can convert people to your faith… and what a faith it will be. How many people will worship a harpist?"

 Kathryn stood, aware that Eloise was staring determinedly at Cyric. The goddess smiled. "All those who play the harps will eventually hear of me, and they will play for me. Their faith will grant me strength, and then we shall see how easily strife falls to the power of song."

 The God of Strife remained silent then disappeared. The harp song continued.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three: Affirmation**

_The Council of Six- Athkatla, 17 Uktar, 1369 DR_

 "And so I ask the Council to ratify my claim of my lands- lands that have fallen into disrepair through the actions of the Roenall family, and through the evil of Cyric. I have destroyed a large force of goblins and gnolls, and have eliminated the threat of evil. A stronghold that could have been a rallying point for bandits and other rebels has been freed, and returned to my rule. Only now, do other Houses seek to take my lands, once they know the evil has gone. This is why I beg the Council to reaffirm my claim- my hereditary claim to the de'Arnise keep and lands."

 Having finished her speech, Nalia sat on the soft cushion, and stared at the pale, gauzy curtain that prevented her from seeing the rest of the Council. The custom that the members remained anonymous was similar to the custom in Waterdhavian politics, or so she was told.

 The sumptuous, regal room was filled with supplicants to the Council, who were kept a reasonable distance from the curtains and the current speaker by a line of elite Amnish legionaries, wearing their ceremonial armour. 

 Nalia noticed in the shadowed corner, a wizard shrouded in cowl and robe. She had to force herself not to sniff in distaste. She did not like Cowled Wizards. While the majority might by studious, and concerned about the craft, there were some powerful members who used the organisation to gain control of people.

 People like Imoen, who they had kept locked in the magical fortress of Spellhold, far out to the ocean. Nalia was one of the only people in Faerûn who had been within that stronghold, without being a member of the Cowled Wizards. What she had seen had hardly made her feel any greater affection towards the wizards.

 "We hear your request, Nalia de'Arnise. The Council is pleased to offer this simple thing to the Hero of Trademeet and Destroyer of the Five. The declaration of ratification shall be proclaimed throughout the Empire. Let houses invade the lands de'Arnise at their own peril."

 There was a long pause.

 "The Council wishes to bestow a further reward upon Nalia de'Arnise. For not only has she saved Amn and the Sword Coast from terrible chaos and bloodshed by fighting immense evil, but now she has done us another boon by removing an enclave of the Sythillisian Empire. For this reason we judge a reward of forty thousand golds sufficient. The Council has spoken, let our words be law."

 Nalia bowed low. "My thanks, esteemed members of the Council. Allow me to make it clear that there is no more a loyal servant than you will find in Nalia de'Arnise. My thanks once more."

 And, her fine silk robes moving lightly across the polished marble floor, Nalia walked past the crowding nobles and courtiers, and marched through the golden doors into the streets of the City of Coin.

* * * 

_Delryn Estate- Athkatla, 17 Uktar, 1369 DR_

 She sat, an hour later in a comfortable seat, holding a slender glass of rich, fruity wine. Her feet were bare, as she had taken her sandals off to enjoy the benefits of the warm, crackling fire that the servants had stoked for her arrival.

 Anomen Delryn sat opposite her, wearing formal clothes consisting of a black tunic and trousers. Fine silk tunic and trousers, but black nonetheless. It was another sign of his change since the ascension of Kathryn to godhood.

 It was no secret that this priest of Helm and knight of the Order had been madly in love with the young Bhaalspawn. It was no secret that Kathryn had loved him back. They had both intended to marry when they had settled, for their love had been that strong. But at the last, the Bhaalspawn had chosen to become a god. Anomen believed she had chosen it over their love.

 The knight, often grim and duty-bound anyway, had become almost unbearable in his manner. Nalia had almost been driven away in annoyance on their journey from Saradush to Athkatla. He simply refused to feel anything now, except for duty, or a commitment to the greater good.

 But despite that, Nalia honoured their friendship. They had travelled together for a week before they had met Kathryn, even cleansing a goblin lair in the sewers before joining the party with the bard. Six months fighting almost every monster under the sun and moon had created an unbreakable bond of friendship, even if they were taking different paths now.

 "I heard of the proclamation."

 Nalia took a sip of wine, "Yes, it was generous of them, don't you think? I can't help but feel there is an ulterior motive, however. The Council does not given anything away. We are in Amn, and this nation is not called the Merchant's nation for nothing, is it?"

 Anomen smiled faintly, "No. I feel though, Nalia, that you are too cynical. The Council has seen what you have done for them, and have taken steps to see that you are rewarded amicably."

 She sighed, "Have you been rewarded?"

 The knight paused for a moment, taking a long look into his wine before drinking. He said quietly, "I have been rewarded yes. This estate received a donation of gold slightly less than yours, and the trading companies under my name have been given some beneficial trading freedoms."

 Nalia pondered before speaking, "Then the Council wishes to strengthen two people who are known to have a good, loyal nature. They rely on us to defend them from evil and chaos. With us to protect them, they can bargain with evil, and let us deal with the evil that they do not ally with."

 Anomen reddened with anger. "Preposterous! The Council is decadent, and money-grabbing, but it does not cut deals with criminals and vagabonds and other sorts. The Order would have something to say if it did."

 They remained silent for a while. Nalia looked around the room, and was pleased to see that Anomen had bookcases and scrolls. He was no fool of a knight, that much had been apparent to her from their first meeting. But back then, he had a penchant for romantic novels of chivalry. Looking around now, she saw a far different collection of scrolls and books.

 They ranged from philosophical works from Waterdhavien and Calmishite theologians, to treatises on the nature of magic by wizards of distant Halruaa. Nalia was impressed, and when she said so, Anomen smiled.

 The conversation dried up, and the silence grew longer, until Nalia said, "How fares her playhouse? Tomas has visited it. He wants to convert the actors there to the worship of Kathryn. I have heard some strange rumours about it from my contacts in the streets. What do you know?"

 Anomen sighed. He did not like talking about anything to do with Kathryn. "They say that a young woman shimmering blue, walks through the auditorium. At nights, harps play for no reason, touched by an ethereal hand. There is a feeling of power and sanctity on the air that is matched only by the temples, but there is also a feeling of bubbling happiness. Sometimes, a cheeky laugh can be heard, echoing through the eaves and rafters of the playhouse. I myself have never been there."

 Nalia looked closely at Anomen. She saw the tightness around his eyes that spoke of tears held in. His eyes themselves glinted faintly, though his sorrow would not be apparent to anyone who did not know him well.

 "I wish to go there. Will you come?"

 Anomen shook his head. "No. I will not. I will instruct my men-at-arms to escort you there. The streets are less safe than they were when Bodhi ruled the night, and bandits ruled the day."

 Nalia placed the wine glass firmly on the table between them, and stood. "Do not bother, Anomen. I will make my own way. I am disappointed that you cannot find it in your heart to accompany me, but deep down, I expected no less. Goodbye, Lord Delryn. Enjoy your solitude."

* * * 

 _Delryn Estate- Athkatla, 17 Uktar, 1369 DR_

 "My lady, you came!"

 Tomas turned to face her, his eyes glistening freely with tears. He bowed low before her, and then breathed in awe. He was so different to Anomen, with emotions so freely displayed, that Nalia found herself smiling. She smiled even more when she heard the harps plucking away in front of her eyes, without anyone moving them.

 "Incredible…"

 There was a cheeky giggle, and Nalia's smile faded, replaced by a look that mirrored the acute feeling of loss that permeated her mind. She faced the stage, where she had seen Kathryn act months back, and was aware of a tear tracing its way down her cheek. She bowed her head, and whispered, "So, my friend… this is your earthly abode upon earth, is it? I thought you told me you had taste. Imagine, a god making her first temple in the basement of a grubby tavern. Sounds like one of those stories of nonsense that you told us during our travels."

 Another giggle resounded through the auditorium.

 Nalia sat on one of the benches, and clasped her hands together. "Can you hear me, Kathryn? I need to speak with you… about Anomen. He hurts, every single day. A wall of duty has surrounded him. I cannot get through to him. His loyalty is there, but his love… his happiness. That is all gone."

 A wistful sigh, like a breath of wind stirred the curtains on either side of the stage. Nalia watched a soft blue light begin to pulsate around each harp in the playhouse, and a soft melody sprang up. The wizard watched, intrigued, as Tomas held his own harp, and started playing his own tune.

 It was his form of prayer, Nalia decided.

 What was hers?

 She could not play the harp. Instead, she would have to rely on her friendship with Kathryn. The goddess would surely listen. She had to tell Anomen the truth of their relationship. Anomen believed she had forsaken him, but in truth, he could not have been more wrong.

 Nalia stood, and bowed her head again. "Until another time, my friend."

 And so saying, she turned from the soft blue glow of the singing instruments, and left the playhouse. She missed Kathryn. She missed the old Anomen. She missed all of the companions. What made it worse was the fact that she knew nothing would ever go back to the way it was. 

 Ever.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four: Wraith and Dream**

_Northern de'Arnise lands, 19 Uktar, 1369 DR_

 The farmhouse was a ruin. 

 Although the walls still stood, the rocks and bricks were cracked and the roof had gaping holes. Nalia was grateful as she entered the dark abode that it was not raining anymore. 

 She took another step in, and wrinkled her nose. The place smelt of decay, of old blood and bone- of mould. Squinting, she could only make out the faintest outlines of a table and two bookcases. Anything else was lost in the deepening shadows of the falling dusk.

 With a bored tone, Nalia murmured a brief spell, and a globe of spinning azure light appeared in her hand, lighting up the room clearly. She looked at the table first, and noticed that it had been scratched by great claws. A dagger had been slammed into the wood, and there were numerous cracks where it had impacted.

 Frowning, Nalia stepped past the table, and peered at one of the bookcases. There were three books, heavily wrinkled. Reaching out with her right hand, she pulled one out, and looked at the front cover. A history of Amn. The second book was the journal of the farmer. The third…

 As Nalia opened the cover, she felt a shocking chill race along her hand. Trapped! Flinging the book to one side, she murmured a counter spell, and watched as the blueness in her skin faded. Muttering, she reached down and picked up the book once again, looking at the first page.

 Arcane symbols gleamed, and she smiled. A spell book. She placed the book in her bag of holding, intending to study it when she returned to the keep. Turning, she approached the second, but saw nothing there, except for a few blank sheets of parchment. 

 Nothing else.

 A few broken, scattered bowls near a window- a smashed window. A torn curtain beside the same window- the other curtain had been ripped completely. It was as if a wild animal had attacked. 

 Nalia swallowed.

 Whoever had been living here must have left in a hurry.

 A sinister thought slithered through her mind… what if the person had not left at all? What if the smell of blood and bone were the decaying remains of the unfortunate farmers? Nalia licked her lips nervously.

 And what if the animal was still here?

 Immediately, she walked out of the farmhouse, into the continually darkening dusk. She could see Cernick in his plate armour waiting beside their horses, and Tomas with his harp standing beside him. They were safe.

 Pulling her cloak tightly around herself, Nalia moved towards them. She needed company now. The poor inhabitants of this place were dead, because she had not been here protecting them. As she walked, she realised that the air was becoming colder. With every second. 

 Her breath now left her as grey mist, pale against the dark. 

 It was not a natural cooling. Something supernatural was causing it.

 Focusing on Cernick and Tomas, she saw something that had not been there before. A lithe, slim shape of shadow that was moving closer to the men with every passing second. There was a faint flickering of red where eyes should be.

 Wraith.

 Panic surged through her, and she rattled off a powerful spell urgently, pointing towards Cernick and Tomas- who drew their swords when they saw her casting. They needed no other warning to know that something was wrong.

 From her pointing hand, a blast of white energy leapt, flying through the air, and surrounding the two men. The wraith leaped towards them both with a primal shriek, but was thrown backwards by the power of the spell.

 Quickening her pace into a run, Nalia chanted a quick spell. Magical research into the energies employed by clerics had allowed her to create a new spell, an arcane version of turning. She clenched her fist as she drew closer to the wraith, and felt the energy coursing through her veins.

 With a scream of pain, the wraith was forced back.

 Taking advantage, Nalia intoned another spell, this time a simple spell of fire. A single beam of roiling flame moved from her splayed fingers, striking the centre of the wraith's dark form.

 It screamed again, but did not seem to be overly affected.

 Not waiting for the thing to attack her, Nalia shouted another spell, linking her hands with her thumbs. A blast of freezing ice rolled over the wraith, knocking it back about six feet.

 Hardly pausing for breath, she chanted the same spell again, and watched as the creature of death was forced even further back. Nalia risked a quick glance at Cernick and Tomas- the protective ward had faded, and they were moving for an attack. Their enchanted weapons would allow them to hurt the creature, just as her magic hurt it.

 Reaching into her pouch, she pulled out a pinch of crushed diamond, and hurled it at the wraith, roaring a word of power as she did so. Magical forces flashed, and then surrounded the indistinct shadow, holding it still- although it struggled against the bonds placed upon it.

 By now, Tomas had reached her side, and attacked with his two long swords, both glowing a brilliant blue. The creature could not block the attack, held by her magic, and so could only watch helplessly as the potent swords sliced off a segment of its shadowy form.

 Cernick then lunged with his enchanted two-handed sword, and another shadow was torn from the wraith. Its screams of rage and pain were resounding around them, making Nalia's head throb, but it did not distract her enough to release the holding spell.

 With a shout, Cernick and Tomas both struck again at the creature.

 With a final scream, it faded into the dusk.

* * * 

_The de'Arnise keep, 19 Uktar, 1369 DR_ __

 "What was it doing there, my lady?"

 Cernick stood opposite her in the audience hall, frowning in puzzlement. Tomas was sitting beside the hearth, piling up wood ready to light a fire. They had been sleeping in the hall for the days they had been here, as none of the other rooms were of suitable enough condition in which to sleep. 

 Nalia was not entirely comfortable with sleeping in the hall, where she had found the slaughtered bodies of Roenall and his men, but at least the blood had been cleared up. From this room at least.

 The three of them had spent most of the afternoon cleaning the first floor of the keep, taking charred goblin and gnoll corpses, and burying them in a huge pit beside the keep. The gems and gold dropped by the dead creatures had been piled in the audience hall.

 Nalia sighed, "Whatever evil does, Cernick. These lands are the perfect place for exiled powers, for no force of goodness has made a stand. This, I intend to change, though. We have killed a wraith tonight. Tomorrow, we will sweep the land clean around the keep, and will continue to defeat any evil that lurks here until once again, it is a free, peaceful place in which to live."

 Tomas spoke up from his position beside the hearth, "Three are hardly strong enough to cleanse acres of land, Nalia. You may be one of the most powerful archmages in the Sword Coast, if not Faerûn, but a stray arrow or blade can kill you as easily as the next person."

 She nodded, and paced the room for a moment. "Yes, I know. For that reason, I need Cernick to travel to Amnwater, to locate any folk who are still loyal to me. They will have fled rather than bow to Roenall. Anyone you find, bring straight here, captain."

 Cernick said, "I cannot leave you and Tomas to fight alone."

 Nalia walked until she stood beside him, and placed a hand on his armoured shoulder. "Do not worry about us. My magic and his blades are more than strong enough to clear the immediate area. In a few days, you will return here with loyal warriors, and we can begin to rebuild my inheritance."

 The captain of her non-existent guard sighed, "I don't like it."

 Shrugging, she said, "You don't have to like it, Cernick. It just has to be done. We will rest tonight, to celebrate the defeat of the wraith. Tomorrow though, we will begin our reclamation in earnest."

* * * 

_ She knew that she dreamt, but even so she found it difficult to disassociate herself from the terrible slaughter that surrounded her. On the wall in front of her, she saw the bloody corpse of Isaea Roenall, his skin pasty white, and his eyes torn from their sockets._

_ Bile rose in her throat, and she had to focus on keeping the contents of her stomach where they belonged. Behind her, a pained groan made her turn. A guard, stripped of his armour and clothes, was walking towards her._

_ From the blood dripping slowly to the floor, it was clear that he was badly hurt. His wrists had been cut severely, and his chest had been sliced with sharp nails. Nalia remembered a time in her hours of awakening, when she had seen torn curtains. _

_ Was it the same creature?_

_ The guard whispered something, but no sound came out. Nalia took a step closer, trying to understand what he was saying. To no avail. Another groan left his lips, but still he could not speak, though the fervent desire to tell her something was evident in his eyes- the frustration, the pain._

_ "What is it you wish?"_

_ A strangled gurgle, but still no words._

_ Nalia tried again: "Speak! You hold words that are craving release! Speak to me, and be burdened no more in your spirit."_

_ Silence- broken only by a faint rasping sound._

_ Again she tried, but as she opened her mouth to speak, no sound came out. Her heart hammered wildly. What was happening? She took a step back from the approaching guard, whose gleaming eyes had now changed in their desire._

_ They wanted blood now, not release for words that would not come._

_ Fear- Nalia had no ability to cast spells, for her words had been…_

_ A feeling of coldness spread- her words had been torn out of her throat_

_ -pain!_

_ Black fire leapt from the eyes of the god, hammering into her chest._

_ Nalia screamed! She could make sound!_

_ Crossing her thumbs together, she prepared to unleashed a devastating blast of ice. But she could not release the words. What sorcery was this? _

_ Another step back._

_ The bloody guard took a step forward._

_ She took a step back._

_ A step forward._

_ A step back._

_ A step forward-_

_ There was no more room to move, for she had backed into a wall._

_ Hands reached for her, and a crooning sound issued forth from the lips of the guard, who, she realised now- was dead. Dead, just like all the corpses who surrounded her. Like Isaea, who was somehow pulled himself from the wall, and was walking towards her with slow, lumbering steps. His eye sockets shone with black fire. Fire that swirled and moved._

_ Clammy hands clasped her throat, and she gasped for breath._

_ The grip on her throat tightened- continued to tighten._

_ She was growing colder._

_ Colder with every second._

_ The screaming sound of the dying surrounded her, and her spirit wilted in her chest. Vainly, she tried to kick out, but the guard would feel no pain._

_ He was dead._

_ She screamed again, and her own cries of fear mingled with the echoing memory that was held within the room. She would die, just like Roenall and his men. Her blood would be scattered across the room- her life's breath would fade like the summer heat._

_ The coldness would claim her forever._

_ No._

_ A feeling of calmness appeared amidst the chaos of her thoughts. _

_ No._

_ The feeling grew stronger, and she could hear other sounds apart from the screaming._

_ Like music._

_ Or in particular, the thrumming of rich and vibrant harp song._

_ The guard faded away, as a blue glow filled the room. _

_ The blood on the walls disappeared._

_ The clammy grip was shattered._

_ She was free…_

_ Nalia moved forward, intending to become one with the power of the blue glow. But something kept her back, and she knew she was not meant to go this way- yet. She looked deep into the energy, and watched as a woman stepped from it, wearing robes of swirling blue and purple- and pink. _

_ Pink, the favourite colour of the Bhaalspawn bard._

_ Pink, the colour of the rose._

_ Pink, the colour of inspiration and hope._

_ The woman spoke, her hair shining a bright white, "Nalia."_

_ The words were filled with power, a thrumming sense of music, a rich resonance that was unmatched anywhere in Faerûn. Nalia fell to her knees, a sense of deepening respect rising within her._

_ "Kathryn," she asked, "What is it that you want from me?"_

_ There was a faint touch of laughter, followed by a breezy murmur that was louder than any shout, "Nothing. I wish nothing but to aid you, my friend. I sensed your death drawing closer, and I could not allow it. The thread of music that you create is not ready to disintegrate yet. There is so much more for you to do."_

_ Nalia sighed, "I am not powerful enough. Without you and the companions, I am just a naïve girl with power, but not the calculating will to use it."_

_ Kathryn laughed, "You are what you are. Your will is enough, your might is enough. The music I sense from you is powerful indeed. It thrills, it hums… the vibrations echo through eternity. Mystra has her touch upon you… her tune is rare."_

_ "Mystra?"_

_ The Harpist chuckled, and the light danced merrily. "Yes, Mystra. Her magic you use daily, and you prayers send her strength. But yours send me strength. I feel your faith, I feel your friendship… I remember."_

_ Nalia swallowed. "What is it like, Kathryn?"_

_ "Lonely."_

_ She breathed out heavily, "I am working for you all the time, my friend. Once I have my position strengthened, I can begin to further your name throughout Faerûn. The Harpist will have a home in Amn."_

_ There was another laugh, and the light started to fade into darkness. There was a giggle._

_ "I know, silly."_

_ Then the light was gone altogether._

 __


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five: Imoen**

_Planar Sphere, somewhere above Sigil, 19 Uktar, 1369 DR_

 The planar sphere hummed through the barriers between space and time. Within its solid expanse of stone, she stood, wearing her mage robes of faded pink. Along the hem, magical runes of power had been inscribed, flashing different colours every few seconds, changing from yellow to silver, to gold.

 Created from the mage robes of Vecna, the pink cloth brimmed with power. Elemental resistance and magic resistance; renewable contingencies; pockets of holding… the list of enchantments that she had placed upon it were nearly endless. She found her confidence increased whenever she wore her robes. It made her feel that whatever she did- wherever she went, her spirit would remain true.

 Whistling to herself, she walked around her home, reflecting on the changes she had made. Only two months ago, this place had smelt of burned demon hearts, discarded, rusty weapons and sulphur.

 Now, there were delicate silk drapes… areas of living garden created by her magic… trickling fountains in rooms of solid marble… a magical workshop which was pretty and functional at the same time… a library where she kept her spell books and scrolls… her bedroom, which was decorated in various shades of yellow…

 It was unrecognisable.

 Then again, it should be. She had invested so much energy in changing this place so she could feel at home, that if it was any less perfect, she would have been disappointed. Breathing in deeply, she closed her eyes as the scent of a rare flower tickled her nostril. Bought from a tiefling in the city of Sigil, the aedron plant was one of a kind- the last in all the planes. 

 There were now two of them in her sphere, growing well and healthily in her gardens. Once there were more of them, she would be able to research how useful they were as spell components. Something that rare would have to be useful.

 She chuckled. That sounded almost like a wizard quote, something that she had made an unofficial promise never to say. 

 Imoen- known by the people close to her as Imoen the Vibrant. The last surviving Bhaalspawn- the only one who had given away her power voluntarily, she was an archmage of incredible magical strength. However, she did not let that go to her head, and acted completely different to the normal wizard.

 She would laugh, flirt, and tell jokes, instead of speaking in riddles shrouded in secrecy. Pink was the colour she wore most often, instead of the dull and boring colours of black- or brown.

 In fact, she was not dissimilar to Kathryn in her attitude, which probably came of them being sisters. But while Kathryn had chosen the way of music, Imoen had chosen the way of magic. And where Kathryn had chosen godhood, Imoen had chosen mortality.

 Her mind went back to that day when Amelyssan had been destroyed, and Kathryn became a god. With her last few moments of mortal life, the bard had given them all tasks to do, if they wished to do them.

 Nalia's had been to help her faith grow in Amn.

 Anomen had been asked to remain true to his love.

 Viconia was given the task of converting the drow.

 Keldorn was asked to be ready for a time when Kathryn would need him.

 And Imoen?

 Imoen had been asked to spread the faith through the planes.

 Although as of yet she had not been successful, today, that was set to change. Her contacts in the City of Sigil, far below where the planar sphere rested, had located a number of denizens who may be amenable to the worship of Kathryn.

 All had a love of music, in particular, a love of the harp. 

 Imoen was due to meet them in the sphere this exact moment, and she was moving to the centre of the sphere to the room where they would appear. Five denizens, whose temperament and alignment were unknown to her. Even their race was unknown to her.

 Imoen, normally enthralled by anything new, felt nervous.

 Whilst in Faerûn, she was confident of her power. Most human wizards or fighters could not hope to match her power. But in the planes? The power of even one random person was considerable, and to meet _five_ at once, without being fully sure whether they were trustworthy…

 Uttering the word of power that unlocked the path into the centre of the sphere, Imoen watched as the walls of solid rock shifted, revealing the entrance to a wide, circular room outfitted with soft seats of red velvet.

 She stepped into the room, and turned to face a circle of gold.

 A faint crackling could be heard, which she knew was the spell of the denizens seeking entrance. Imoen focused her mind, and opened the wards that blocked portal travel into the sphere.

 Immediately, a blue spot appeared in the centre, expanding until it filled the circle. Imoen noticed shadowy figures growing with it. Those shadows grew more and more distinct, until there was a loud snap, and a tall figure strode into her sphere, nodding his head graciously in greeting.

 Imoen nodded her own greeting, taking in the appearance of this figure. He was a good six feet tall, about a head higher than she was. His skin was a pale blue, and his hair a fine white, and as soon as he entered her planar sphere, she felt a slight stirring of a breeze. She knew immediately what this was: a genasi.

 The product of a union between elemental and mortal, genasi were strong beings who quite often dealt severely with humans, who they viewed as their lesser cousins. But this figure seemed friendly- his electric blue eyes, although alien, managed to hold comfort and friendship within their depths.

 "Apheyr, air genasi and mage of Sigil, grant thee my grateful thanks for permitting my entrance to your abode of wonder. Upon time and leisure, he shall repay thee for your generous nature."

 His voice was heavily accent, and had a lilting quality to it. As he spoke, Imoen felt slightly cold, and noticed the breeze pick up strength. She smiled, and looked into his eyes and said, "I am Imoen, human daughter of a dead god and archmage of Toril. I thank you for coming into my sphere, and I hope that you will be comfortable during your stay." 

 She looked around. "Where are the others?"

 Apheyr said calmly, "They come, now."

 There were two snaps one after the other, and Imoen bowed to two women who entered. They wore golden chain mail, with silken silver cloaks and hoods. Into each of their belts were thrust two fine dirks, and at their waist hung ivory harps. Slung across their backs were bows of deep mahogany.

 They looked like mirror images of each other.

 Although they did not bow, a fractional movement of their head was enough to show their respect. Their eyes met that of Imoen, and she was startled to see the vast wisdom contained in the lilac orbs. Their hair was mostly covered by their hoods, but from what Imoen could see of them, it was a very light blonde, almost white. 

 The only word that could describe them was beautiful.

 One of them raised a hand in greeting, "Imoen, archmage of Toril, I greet you. I am Jasmine Tae, aasimar bard. This is my sister, Katrina, also aasimar… also a bard. We are intrigued to hear of this new god you speak of, this… Harpist."

 Katrina nodded, "Yes. Should she accept us, we would be pleased to use our harping skills for the good of the planes and your world."

 Imoen said, "I thank you. There will be time for conversation after. I must greet the last two who are meant to be here. If they are anything like you, I am afraid I will be quite overawed. A mere human mage is not meant to deal with such venerated individuals."

 The three arrivals did not smile, merely nodded, accepting a compliment where it was due. Arrogant, Imoen thought for a moment. Or maybe not. Perhaps they were just confident in their skills.

 She waited for the last two snaps that would denote the two remaining arrivals, but nothing happened. Frowning, she turned to face the three. "Were the last two with you when you stepped through the portal?"

 Apheyr frowned. "They were. Archmage Imoen, methinks we should prepare for the worst… Sigil is not the safest of places… Apheyr thinks they may have experienced some trouble."

 With those words, his skin started to crackle with lightning. Spell deflection. A few hissed words later, and red light started to play around him- immunity to magical weapons. Imoen watched, intrigued as he continued to cast spell protections upon himself. Sighing, Imoen unleashed her contingencies with a mental command.

 Light leaped around her, of many different colours.

 Apheyr raised an eyebrow, and said, "This one is impressed. Apheyr has heard rumours of your greatness, archmage. He has just had it proved."

 The two aasimar bards had cast whatever spells they had memorised, and while not as impressive as the protections surrounding Apheyr and Imoen, they were potent enough to match many wizards of the Sword Coast. The twins nocked arrows to their bows, and waited, hardly breathing, for new developments.

 The development arrived shortly.

 It was a demon.

* * * 

 Imoen watched the massive, snake-like demon rear above them as it crashed into her planar sphere. Narrowing her eyes, she sent a mental call through her sphere, activating the defences around the gate.

 Multiple spells sliced at the snake, but dissolved before they could do any damage to the vast, scaly skin of the demon, which buzzed with innate magical energy that would stop most spells.

 To stop the creature from penetrating further than the room, Imoen gestured to her left, and allowed the walls to shift back, blocking the exit out of the room. Two shining arrows flew through the air, embedding deep within the demon. 

 It flung itself to the floor, rolling until the arrows snapped off. Then it launched itself toward Apheyr with incredible speed. The air genasi surprised Imoen, however, when he jumped into the air- and stayed there, floating above the creature.

 His eyes flashed once, and two beams of lightning struck the snake.

 They fizzled out when they touched the creature.

 Arrows from the twins were being launched continually, striking at the creature with unerring accuracy. But they did not seem to be having much affect. The snake was obviously pained by them, but pained in the way an elephant is pained by a bee sting. It did not stop its advance.

 Towards Imoen.

 Drawing herself up, Imoen held out her right hand, and called into being her staff, which was stored in a pocket plane she had created weeks ago. This staff pulsated with dark blackness. 

 Roaring a word of power, Imoen sent a massive concussive blast of energy, which sent waves of energy rolling away from the snake. Propped against the wall, she did not fall, but the aasimar twins stumbled for a moment. Floating above the snake, Apheyr remained safe.

 Imoen uttered the word of power once more, and again a massive blast of energy swayed her. This time the aasimar were ready for it, and did not stumble. Instead, they just continued to shoot their golden arrows.

 In an attempt to test the magical resistance of the demon, Imoen sent five magic missiles winging towards the snake. Three of them dissolved, but two made tiny burn-marks on the skin of the demon.

 Content that the resistance was weakened considerably- or at least enough to hurt the creature, Imoen called into her mind a powerful spell. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a large ruby, which she held in her hand for three seconds, chanting an arcane set of commands.

 Missile after missile of red energy flashed from the ruby, attacking the snake viciously. With each missile, the ruby decreased in size slightly. By the time about thirty of the missiles had been unleashed, the ruby had become little more than a spec of dust, which disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

 The creature convulsed in pain, but continued its advance towards Imoen, who focused her sight on a point on the other side of the room, and with a quickly uttered spell, teleported to that location.

 Not a moment too soon.

 The teeth of the demon snapped shut on the space where she had been standing seconds earlier. Breathing heavily, for the ruby spell had taken much energy from her; Imoen steadied herself with the staff, before putting both hands together, and screaming a complicated series of words.

 The world shivered before her eyes, as she battled exhaustion, but once she had managed to finish the spell, a beam of light hit the snake in the centre of its skull, with a single screech of noise.

 But still it did not die.

 Apheyr shouted a spell which Imoen did not recognise. She watched in surprise as a whirlwind of ice tightened itself around the snake, tossing it this way and that throughout the room. The air genasi did not pause, except to take a short breath, and then uttered another spell.

 Lightning of pure ice struck the snake, and it shrieked with a scream of primal rage and agonised pain. It tried to move, but gripped by the power of ice itself, it could not. Imoen gestured, and sent three sets of magic missiles against the creature, one after another. It thrashed once, and continued to struggle.

 The genasi floated to the ground, and approached the demon with a sneer. He reached into his robes of ice-white, and pulled out a pure, see-through crystal which he held above his head.

 Words of power tumbled from his mouth, and Imoen recognised the words of a binding spell. The demon roared, for it too knew what would happen next. A flash made Imoen close her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, the demon was gone. When she looked at the crystal, she saw a madly thrashing line of darkness contained within.

 Apheyr had bound the demon to his will.

 When he looked at Imoen, he seemed tired, but a gleam of victory could be seen within their depths, as he whispered, "Apheyr is proud to have fought alongside thee, Archmage."

 The aasimar twins sighed in unison, and one of them said, "We too, judge it an honour, Imoen. Without you, we would have died for sure, as I think Lara and Kallea have."

 A loud bell tolled throughout the planar sphere, and Imoen turned in alarm to face the gate. Another sinuous shape was winding its was towards them. Drawing on her last reserves of strength, Imoen re-activated the wards, and watched as the blue portal dissolved. 

 They were safe.

 For now. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six: Servants**

_The de'Arnise keep, 3 Nightal, 1369 DR_

 The servants had done their work well.

 The keep had been thoroughly cleared of all traces of its occupation by bloodthirsty goblins and gnolls. The charred remains had been placed into the pit outside, and the pit had been filled in and marked with a slab of rock that Nalia had crafted into an image of Kathryn, with her harp, standing over the body of Cyric. The work of a stoneshape spell, it allowed the inhabitants of the keep to see the victory that music could have over the power of madness itself.

 About a week had passed since Nalia had killed the wraith, and faced the horror in her dreams, and the place was unrecognisable. The forty thousand golds from the Council had arrived days ago, and had been placed along with a good seven thousand gold and many hundreds of gems found on the bodies of the goblins, into the family vault.

 They had paid for new tapestries which had been placed along the walls; new carpets in some rooms, and heavy wooden floorboards in others; the rebuilding of certain areas of the walls which had fallen into disrepair, and the plans to rebuild all the farmhouses on her lands, which amounted to about thirty homes, with acres and acres of land to be re-fenced.

 The farmers who had fled her lands had now returned, and were rebuilding those homes themselves. It looked like the de'Arnise lands were truly recovering. Cernick and the guards, numbering about twenty-eight travelled with Nalia daily, to ensure that every area of her land was freed from potential threat.

 All those threats had now been removed, and the section of the Eshpurta road which ran through her lands was now being used by trade caravans once more, which did no longer have to worry about bandit raids. 

 It was a new spring at the beginning of winter.

 Nalia stared out of her bedroom window, at the courtyard of the keep, which had been completely cleared of debris yesterday. It was looking hospitable again. She smiled. Finally. Six months ago, when Kathryn had delivered this keep from the trolls, she had been able to enjoy its recovery, for she did not have the strength to stand up to Roenall.

 Now, she had no Roenall to worry about. The remaining members of that family had disassociated themselves with the de'Arnise keep and lands and the horrifying fate of Isaea that had occurred within its bounds. This meant that Nalia could finally become the Lady de'Arnise in truth, not just in name.

 And it felt good.

 Three days ago, with the keep completely safe, Nalia had sent ten guards to bring her equipment from Athkatla. Tomas had gone with them, intending to visit the playhouse in the city while he was there. 

 When Nalia gained her more powerful equipment, and all her scrolls and books, she could begin making herself more at home. Like Imoen had, in her planar sphere, according to the rumours floating through Amn originating from the artisans employed within the sphere.

 There was a polite knock at her door, and Nalia said calmly, "Enter."

 The door opened, and a small servant girl entered, carrying a tray on which was placed a bowl of porridge with a light drizzle of honey. Looking at the breakfast, Nalia was reminded of one of the few problems that remained to her.

 Food.

 With autumn swiftly disappearing, and winter setting in, food was needed for the farmers that resided in her lands. They would not continue to re-settle if there was nothing for them to eat.

 Watching silently as the girl placed the tray on the small desk, Nalia smiled. The girl left the room. Whistling quietly, the wizard de'Arnise sat down on the stiff-backed chair, and slowly, carefully, spooned the porridge gently into her mouth, her eyes frowning with thought as she did so.

 It was strange.

 When she was younger, she had hated the idea of ruling these lands, preferring instead to help the poor and unfortunate. But now, having had her brief experience of ruling, she could see that far more could be done to help the poor if she was in a position of power.

 Questions of food and supplies, once dry and boring, had now become a matter of importance. Everything was interlinked, sometimes tenuously, but interlinked nevertheless.

 Having finished her porridge, Nalia stood. She had a busy day to get through.

* * * 

 In the late afternoon, Nalia watched as Tomas and the guards arrived back. Their horses were lathered in sweat and rain, and their breath came as mist- something she was becoming accustomed to seeing as winter started to set in.

 She noticed about six new people who had arrived Tomas, riding on horses that looked scraggly and road-weary. Four of them were children, one was an old man, and the other was a relatively fat woman.

 Nalia walked down the steps into the courtyard, and raised a hand in greeting to Tomas, the guards, and the newcomers. The bard stepped forward, moving his wet hair away from his eyes as he spoke, "Lady Nalia, I have brought people willing to convert to the faith of harps. Have I your permission, as apostle to the goddess, to bring them into the Church?"

 She resisted the urge to frown. Apostle? Hardly, she was just a mage who had happened to encounter a particular bard at the right time… but if it made Tomas happy, then apostle she would be.

 "They have my permission, First Harpist. Perhaps you could introduce me?"

 Tomas nodded, "Yes, perhaps I could. Lady Nalia, this man is Gullyver Toad, an aged and wizened rogue who has been visited for the past four weeks in his dreams by a harpist shining blue."

 The old man bowed, and Tomas continued, "This venerable matron is Madame Marian Gables, who started receiving dream visions of the Harpist the same time as Gullyver. Her children, Elisia, Martin, Tompson and Freddy have also been experiencing dreams. It is my belief that our goddess calls them to be part of the Church of Harps."

 Nalia smiled graciously, "Welcome, faithful of Kathryn. It is an honour to meet children so enamoured, and adults so wise. Your courage in joining this faith is a shining example, and beacon to us all. Make yourselves at home within my keep. Tomas no doubt, will teach you the ways of Kathryn, which are simple at heart."

 She paused, and then turned back to Tomas. "Now, I hope you have brought my equipment with you. It will be good to be reunited with my gear after these past few weeks."

 The bard laughed, "Yes, though I doubt it will do me much good. I quite enjoyed having powerful weapons, but the magic I can sense in these packs makes my teeth itch. It is a wonder we were not attacked as we travelled through Amnwater."

 Nalia shrugged, "It might have something to do with the masking spell I cast on you as you left. To all hostile scrying, you and any magic items with you would have appeared non-existent. I thank you all," she said, looking at the ten guards as she did so. "I feel that we can make a proper start here, now."

 Tomas nodded. "Yes. As do I."

* * * 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven: Developments**

_House of Harps- 19 Nightal, 1369 DR_

_ "And she makes no judgement, except that the music be beautiful and the harp-song true. Villainy and evil, things that corrupt the essence of song, she spurns, for they are damaging to the glory that makes music possible. But epics must be written, and for epics to be written there must be war. But righteous, musical war of romance and chivalry! Ideals and brilliance! This is what the Goddess Kathryn stands for!"_

_ "Her likeness is an image of musical beauty, for it sings and hums like an epic itself. The sacrifices she made continually for the furthering of her songs and the protection of Amn and the Coast are an example to us all. Rejoice, and touch the harp with skill and confidence! Embrace the teachings of peaceful song!"_

_ "Goddess of Harps, I rejoice in your name. I have seen your dreams, and know your will for me. I pray to you now, Harpist, hear me. Your gleaming harp rises in my mind's eye, and I can sense its energy and power. The music stirs through my soul, this I know in the depths of my being…"_

_ "Hearken to the harps! Listen to the melodies of hope! Do not sacrifice your creativity for money and lust of the skin. Treat instead your mind like a deva of the highest order. Fight for your mind, and the freedom of your soul!"_

 Kathryn sat on her throne that touched every plane in the realms simultaneously, sensing each touch on a harp string, each plea for her intercession. The prayers were increasing in number every day. 

 Tomas had started to pray to her in the morning, in the afternoon- in the night. The actors of the playhouse were convinced that their patron, once mortal, would watch over their productions with a bountiful eye. It had been remarked more than once that the harps were played particularly well during performances under the Five Flagons, and for this reason, the actors prayed to Kathryn.

 Nalia and the six servants she had chosen to be her messengers prayed too, though as always, the prayers Nalia offered were split between the Harpist, and the Goddess Mystra.

 In Athkatla, sects had sprung up, directed by the shadowy hand of Tomas, whose connections in the thieves underground had gained him the nickname, Harpist of the Shadows. It was he who had arranged 'prophets' to traverse the streets, exhorting the citizens to worship the Lady of Harps.

 Amnwater, with its prayer stone was now home to a decrepit bard, whose skill at playing music, one negligible had improved greatly. His faith now belonged to her as surely as any, and for that she was grateful. Many people in the small town were hearing the benefits of her patronage, and would be moved to pray.

 With the increasing power given to her by the increasing prayers, Kathryn could now afford to grant prayers to her followers, which she did so generously. With proof of her existence and power available, the persuasion of people to worship her would be a lot easier.

 She smiled at Eloise, whose playing had grown better in the past days or her patient tutelage. "All is well, child. Can you not feel it? The Realms are changing. Music will soon play an equal role with magic, and blood, and swords. And I will be the one to direct the plucking of the strings."

 As she spoke though, she heard an urgent cry coming to her from distant Faerun, and a pain touched her heart. 

* * * 

 _"Kathryn, hear my plea! Grant me your might, grant me your strength! Aid me, Kathryn, aid me! The darkness grows to consume my song, and the harp falters in the deep! Death, to the enemies of harp! Embrace the lightning death of music, creature!"_

_ Viconia lashed out with bright pink lightning, that thrummed with the notes of a war harp, loud, clear and unbroken. Kathryn moved her mind, until she stared through the eyes of the loyal drow. What she saw surprised her._

_ Three drow wizards stood, their legs set apart, chanting powerful magic._

_ Against them, Viconia stood alone._

_ Kathryn sensed her fear, and whispered to her, "Don't be afraid. The power of my music is within you. Move, with the grace of the harp."_

_ And she sent her might coursing through the muscles of the drow cleric. _

_ Viconia leaped forward, swinging the flail of the ages above her head. The flail struck one of the wizards, and he fell without a sound. Kathryn saw with her godly senses, the second wizard cast a death spell, which sizzled towards Viconia. A single note of music sent the magical energy fizzling away. _

_ Again Viconia moved, and the second wizard died, his head falling in upon itself._

_ The third tried to teleport away with a simple spell, but Kathryn disrupted it with a discordant clash that made him stumble slightly. Viconia did not allow him to recover from the miscast spell, and ended his life with a simple swing of the flail._

_ Kathryn, from her place deep within the mind of the drow cleric, smiled. She could sense the gratitude of her servant, and from it, she took strength. Viconia was mouthing a prayer, "I give you my thanks, Harpist. Your power is great, your aid appreciated. I give you my eternal loyalty, my fr-"_

_ A sharp, searing pain surged through Viconia's body, and, linked as she was, Kathryn too could feel the pain. Groaning in numb shock, the drow turned, and saw a tall man with gleaming eyes filled with hate and bloodlust._

_ The drow did not recognised her human attacker._

_ Kathryn recognised him immediately._

_ It was Cyric._

* * *

 "No!"

 Her cry tore through the heavens, filled with loss and pain. Viconia was dead. Her only agent amongst the drow, killed with contemptible ease by the might of Cyric. Kathryn stood to her feet, her lips curled in anger. Damn the god! What business had he to interfere in her worshippers?

 The harps playing in the background rose to a deafening height, strengthened by the anger of the goddess that controlled their music. Kathryn screamed again, venting her frustration, and she dimly heard a string snap.

 Cyric would pay for his actions.

 But before she could make him pay, she needed support.

 And for that support, she needed-

* * * 

 "-ady Mystra."

 The Goddess of the Weave smiled at the bard-turned-god, and moved her hand graciously. A glowing seat made from pure magic appeared before her, and Kathryn sat upon it, manipulating it to suit her desires.

 They sat in silence for a long time, until Kathryn said, "I wish your help, Mystra. I know you bear no love for Cyric. Your church is opposed to him, you are opposed to him. You may be aware, but moments ago, he killed my only priestess amongst the drow, a blow that pained me badly. I have no doubt that he will next move against my agents in Amn, namely Tomas, my high priest, or even Nalia de'Arnise and Imoen, both wizards whose prayers bring both me and yourself great influence. To lose them would be a blow not only to me, but also to you."

 Mystra nodded. "Yes. It would. I have watched the development of Imoen and Nalia with great influence. From what I sense of their greatness, to lose them so early would be of grave consequence for the Realms. But what is it that you require, Kathryn? My power is not limitless. I cannot stand against Cyric for you."

 The Harpist smiled. "I merely require the souls of two companions of mine that reside within these halls- Khalid, and Dynaheir. Both travelled with me, and I need their strength and friendship once again."

 The Goddess of Magic smiled. "Khalid is yours. He played the harp on numerous occasions, and he was always more suited to the career of a bard than he was to the career of a fighter. Should he wish it, he may become one of your servants. But Dynaheir… I cannot relinquish her. Her magic is powerful, and she is rising high in the ranks of wizards here. Under no circumstances will I allow her to leave. Forgive me, Kathryn, but that is my will."

 Kathryn sighed, "Very well. But Khalid, he is free to serve me?"

 Mystra waved her hand, and a flash of bright light created a slashing noise. A portal opened, and through it, stepped Khalid, wearing fine robes of silver. When he walked, tiny stars followed in his footsteps. 

 He looked at Kathryn with eyes of pure blue, and grinned, "Kathryn… it has been a long time. Or so it seems to me. But it is strange. It is seeming to me that I have been here for millennia, yet I remember you face like it was yesterday… but I struggle to remember… it is an enigma that troubles me…"

 Walking towards Khalid, Kathryn bowed. "Khalid, I have come to ask you something. Would you come with me to my House of Harps, to serve me loyally as you did while in your mortal days, or do you wish to remain with Lady Mystra, in these hallowed halls of magic? Whatever you decide, I will respect your wishes."

 The dead Harper looked at Mystra, and then at Kathryn, with tears in his eyes. "If I speak the truth, then I would have to say I crave for your company once again, Kathryn. I was never a fighter, but I was never a mage either. The company of a bard would be much more to my liking. If, that is, the Lady Mystra approves?"

 The Goddess laughed, "Of course I approve. Be happy, Khalid. Your work in my service was great, and the good you fostered was pleasing to me. May you continue to do good things in the service of Kathryn."

* * * 

 Throughout the heavens, Kathryn travelled, locating the souls of old companions and friends. Gorion, in the realm of Oghma, joined her without hesitation; eyes filled with respect for his ward- now a god. Garrick, butchered by gibberlings in the first days of her adventuring career, joined her, intent on supporting Lady Harp, whose instrument he had played during his time on Faerûn. Yoshimo, whose suffering had touched a chord in the soul of Ilmater, was allowed to join her ranks also. 

 Yet not only had the dead joined her.

 The Solar, Gabriellus'anndris, who had guided Kathryn to godhood, answered her call, and marched behind her professing her loyalty to the Lady of Harps. Cespenar followed when Kathryn liberated the remnants of the pocket plane- Kathryn used her power to transform him from the lowly imp, into the figure of a particularly beautiful and blonde bard.

 A shining patrol, they rode through the heavens on horses made of stars, until they returned to the House of Harps, which was slightly more crowded. Viconia joined Kathryn there, tearful at her defeat and failure. Kathryn comforted her for some time, until the drow was ready to accept her new role as an eternal servant of song.

 But all these concerns vanished, when Kathryn sensed a shriek of disharmony slice through the heavens. She leaped into space and time and started soaring forward, trying to find the fading soul of Milil, Lord of All Song.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight: Godsdeath**

_Throughout the Heavens- 19 Nightal, 1369 DR_**__**

 Kathryn sped through the heavens, willing herself to move faster, faster, faster. She could sense the fading power of Milil, the Lord of All Song, and she felt panic rising in her soul, for she could also sense who it was that was killing the god.

 Cyric.

 Cyric, Lord of Murder, was using some method unknown to her to trap Milil from the godly and mortal realms. The Lord of Song was getting weaker, and if Cyric gained his power over song, then nothing Kathryn could do bring any benefit to the Realms.

 If Cyric gained the portfolio of song, then despair and madness and strife would flower like the harvest crop, and nothing Kathryn could do would stop it. So she had to save Milil. She had to somehow find the place where Cyric had trapped the god, and rescue from it.

 So she called on every ounce of her strength, to thrash through the planes, sending her mind before her, feeling for any disharmony in the fabrics of the universe, to sense for any inconsistencies that were harboured.

 And as she soared, she shrieked out for aid, calling on the few of her faithful to pray for her, to give their strength so that she had some hope of succeeding in her desperate attempt to save the power of song from corruptions of evil.

 Her loyal servants prayed, and she felt her strength growing, supported by the bright pyres of their faith. Their determination flashed- mirrored in her own form, and this made her push herself forward that little bit faster.

 Milil was fading more quickly, and echoing through her mind, Kathryn could hear the chilling words of victory, spoken by Cyric. Around her, she sensed other gods moving- they had sensed the disappearance of Milil, and were acting, but they were being held back by gods who would profit by Cyric's victory- Talos, Umberlee, Shar…

 It was up to her.

 Up to Kathryn.

 Directing all her energy, she tore a gaping hole in the planar barriers, and saw the fading light of Milil's soul, trapped deep in a dark void. Above him, hovered Cyric, radiant in stolen power, flaming around him like multitudes of dark stars.

 "Milil! Break free! Break free from his grasp, or all is lost!"

 Nothing but silence came from the lips of the dying god, but his eyes stared at her in desperation. Kathryn could feel the mutation of his music, the warping of the pure and beautiful notes, into something dark and terrible, something chaotic and evil. She screamed, and the sounds of harp song surrounded Milil, desperately trying to spark some life into him, desperately exhorting him to stop the mutation of his song. 

 Cyric laughed, and whispered malevolently, "Little goddess, I am so unconcerned by your interference, that I will allow you to watch my victory over the weak and vulnerable song, and then you can see your precious music become my tool! Mine!"

 Kathryn bowed her head, feeling his energies crash above her, in the heights of the void. She extended her hand towards Milil, and felt a slight touch from the god, who was desperately struggling against the might of Cyric. The God of Madness turned to Kathryn, and roared, "Get away from him! Get away from him, or I will destroy you in an instant!"

 Kathryn remained where she was, now holding firmly to Milil's hand, allowing her own power to leak into the soul of the Lord of Song, in a ditch effort to keep him alive. Cyric saw what she was doing, and shrieked again, "I will destroy you easily; you are no match for me, Kathryn!"

 Energies lashed out, but something stopped them from reaching her. Kathryn looked up, and saw Mystra, floating towards them. Her voice echoed, haughty, throughout the void, as she said, "Kathryn may not be a match for you, Cyric, but I most certainly am!"

 Kathryn quailed as Cyric and Mystra clashed above her, energies rolling around. The power being unleashed was incredible. Nothing she had ever felt in her mortal or godly life could have prepared her for this.

 Nothing.

 Kathryn shuddered, as more and more gods arrived, siding with either Mystra or Cyric. Cataclysmic forces were unleashed, so much so that the heavens quivered, strands of pure energy flying loose.

 Across Faerûn, storms broke and waves shattered against the coast. Wizards found their spells fragmented, as Mystra was too gripped in her conflict with Cyric to tend to the Weave. Priests of Helm prayed urgently to the guardian as they saw his divine form fighting the darkness of Talos. 

 And as the gods fought and tore at each other, none noticed when Milil, Lord of All Song, died, with a gasping breath and a shriek of torment. 

 Nobody noticed when his power over song faded from Faerûn.

Nobody noticed the silent agreement between Kathryn and Milil, which allowed the power of song to flow into the divine veins of Kathryn, Lady of Harps… now Lady of All Song.

 Everybody noticed though, when she leapt into the fray alongside Mystra, Helm, Torm… all the good gods felt the benefits of her benevolent singing, as they were spurred to greater lengths in their combat. 

 Cyric screamed in pure rage, and disappeared.

 Mystra turned her pure silver spear, and threw it towards Umberlee, who also disappeared.

 One after the other, the gods disappeared.

 A battle had been fought, the prizes had been given- and lost.

 For now, peace returned to the heavens…

* * * 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine: Meetings**

_de'Arnise__ Keep, 20 Nightal, 1369 DR_

 Nalia knelt in the vault, surrounded by the magical items she had gathered during the months of her adventuring. Weapons racks lined the walls, filled with softly glowing magical swords; chests had been placed alongside them as well, filled with her gold and gems. Cloaks of protection hung on rails, a narrow bookcase with spell books taken from the bodies of different wizards rested alongside the weapons racks.

 Staffs of varying magical powers rested alongside the walls, alongside bows, arrows, spears… it was truly a vault of dreams, filled with the power to break kingdoms and tear nations asunder. It was why Nalia had been entrusted with the items by the party members. All had taken the weapons they wielded and a few items. The rest had been given to Nalia.

 And now they rested safely in her family vault.

 No other House in Amn had such resources, though none in the nation could no of Nalia's hoard. If any did, then adventurers, thieves and rogues would plague her hold incessantly. So it was that she had been forced to keep the amount of weapons secret even from Tomas, fooling him by using ten bags of holding to make the volume of magical artefacts deceptively less.

 Nalia breathed in heavily.

 With the events of last night, it comforted her to know that she had such power within her walls. But she wasn't sure that even this power would avail her against the gods. Like all people of Faerûn, Nalia had seen the gods clash in the starlit sky, and it had terrified her.

 With the coming of dawn, the fighting of the gods had ceased, and Nalia had felt the change in the balance of things. Kathryn had grown stronger. How she knew that she could not say, but the fact remained that it was true. Tomas had stood with her throughout the night, and after all was calm, he had stated simply, "She has grown, Nalia, I can feel it." 

 So he felt it too.

 The six servants of Kathryn had felt it as well, praying with tearful eyes, thanking everyone in sight. Their loyalty was impressive- even more impressive when they started to master prayers that were beyond many servants of higher gods. In shifts, the six servants played their harp, so that the small chapel set aside for Kathryn within the keep was constantly filled with beautiful music.

 "Nalia?"

 A familiar voice spoke behind her, and Nalia sprang to her feet, twirling around swiftly, grinning automatically. She looked at the archmage who stood before her, wearing robes of shocking pink. Laughing, she flung herself into the other woman's arms, "Immy!"

 Imoen grunted, and, giggling slightly, returned the hug. Looking around, she nodded, "You've made yourself at home, it seems. Nicely done." She paused, and the met Nalia's eyes. "I've come about the events of last night. My planar sphere is closer to the godly planes than here, so I have up-to-date news. Milil, Lord of All Song is dead. Kathryn has taken his portfolio, unchallenged, although you might say the clash of gods was the challenge."

 Nalia paled, "Milil is dead? By the gods… that explains the feeling of disharmony last night then. I felt it momentarily, and then it was gone. It went when Kathryn took the portfolio, I assume?"

 The pink-clad archmage nodded, "Yes. Nalia, we have our work cut out for us. The temples of Milil are without prayers, for they are praying to the wrong god. It falls to us to convert the Church of All Song to the worship of Kathryn. Whether or not they accept it, we must try."

 Nalia raised an eyebrow. "Ah yes, just the casual matter of changing the faith of an entire church. We've moved up in the world since the Copper Coronet, haven't we? Back then, we worried who would buy the drinks…"

 Imoen laughed, "Well, everything is changing, Nalia. We just have to change with it. And Milil's Church will have to change. I have brought three allies with me- powerful allies, who will be my agents in Amn. I have already spoken to Tomas. He has agreed that we must convert Milil's church, though he has made it clear that we will be the Archpriest of the entire faith, no matter what the churches feel. He was the first servant of Kathryn, apparently…"

 Imoen's eyes sparkled with amusement when she said that, and Nalia chuckled. "Well, we are special, aren't we? We are the friends of Kathryn, not her priests. Surely our word supersedes his… though I for one have enough on my plate governing this land, without involving myself in leading the temples. Imoen, I will do my best to help you, but I will be busy with this keep as well."

 Imoen waived the comment aside, "I know, Nalia, I know. Really, I just wanted to keep you in the loop. I will take care of the matter, though I would ask for you to do one thing…"

 Nalia asked, "What?"

 Smiling, Imoen said, "Oh, I just want you to convince the Council to legitimise the Church of All Song, pronouncing it run by Kathryn. I also need to enlist the churches in the Temple District, mainly the Church of Helm. The Watcher will have let his priests know the affairs of heaven, and they will declare your words the truth. Basically, Nalia, I need you to cover the political side of things in Athkatla. I will start converting the Church."

 Nalia sighed, "Good luck in that."

 Imoen grinned, "And you."

 With a flash of pink light, Imoen disappeared.

* * * 

 _The Council of Six, 20 Nightal, 1369 DR_

 A simple teleportation spell had allowed Nalia to appear in Athkatla within twenty seconds, along with Captain Cernick and four de'Arnise guards, who were wearing full plate armour, lightly enchanted and emblazoned with the blue swan of House de'Arnise. Crafted from the numerous pieces of magical equipment down in the vault, the armour was powerful enough to constitute the earnings of all four of the guards for seven years. And that was just for one suit of the armour.

 Nalia, who had created the armour, had given the armour the name, "de'Arnise plate" and was intending to create as many suits of armour like it as she had guards. That was, fifty. After that, she could equip them with swords and shields of equally potent enchantments, and she would have a personal guard that rivalled that of any king or emperor.

 However, at this moment in time, all she had was four guards- and Captain Cernick, who wore the Pride of the Legion armour, looking suitably regal and imposing as he walked beside her.

 Most of the afternoon, Nalia had travelled round the temples, gathering support for the deity, Kathryn. The Watcher God had indeed declared the events to the priests, and so the followers of Helm had easily been persuaded to send a representative to the Council, to broach the subject.

 Nalia had arranged for the priests of other faiths to call on the Council throughout the day, but not once did she visit the Council herself. She knew that her own appearance would have to be the last- and therefore, the most effective.

 So it was, that she stood in the Council chamber, standing before the pale red curtains that hid the rulers of Amn from her eyes. Nalia bowed respectfully, and smiled as a soft voice with faintly threatening overtones stated, "And so we meet the instigator of all these priests plaguing us through the afternoon… Nalia de'Arnise. It comes as little surprise…."

 Another voice whispered, "What he meant to say, Lady Nalia, was welcome. We have wondered at the purpose of the priests petitioning us today, but now all is made clear. State your petition."

 Waiting for a moment, Nalia scanned her surroundings. Just like the last time she had appealed to the Council, only a month ago, a Cowled Wizard stood slightly off to one side. Nalia looked at him once, and then looked away as she spoke to the shadowed members behind the curtain.

 "Honoured members of the Council, I come before your shining eminence, to bask in the glory of our nation an-"

 A caustic voice slithered, "Cut out the rhetoric, Lady Nalia. It has been a long and trying day for us. You have seen to that, with the numbers you have sent our way. I will tell you what you want from us, and you will answer yes or no, is that clear?"

 Nalia nodded, "Yes, honoured Council Member."

 A long silence, before another voice, this one a woman's said, "You come to us today for legal recognition to the fact that the goddess called Kathryn has taken over the role of Milil, a now dead god. You want us to declare that the Church of Milil rethink their loyalty to the Lord of All Song, to turn it instead to Kathryn. You have sent us the priests of Helm, the knights of Torm and Tempus, the priests of Lathander and some of Chauntea, even the priests of Talos you have sent to us, and those of Oghma, Mask, Mystra… Cyric… hundreds of priests, so that we can be under no misapprehension about the truth of events in heaven… is all that right, Nalia de'Arnise?"

 Again, Nalia nodded. "Yes."

 Another long silence. Nalia could hear faint whispers and mutters behind the curtain. A man broke the whispering silence, by saying, "Very well. Legal recognition shall be given. The Church of Kathryn is recognised as the Church of All Song, within Amn at least. Letters will be sent to all temples of Milil, and the criers throughout the nation shall spread the word. Milil is dead. Kathryn is the new Goddess of Song."

 Nalia bowed, "My thanks, Council Members."

 "A moment, Nalia."

 She froze as she waited for whoever it was to speak to her. She did not wait long. "This day has been long, and trying. If you try to manipulate us in this way again, we will be most displeased. Things are not done on such a grand scale normally in Athkatla. Perhaps you would not understand that, coming from the country, and only recently returned from frying giants for Tethyr. We also wish to make another decree. From this moment forward, Nalia de'Arnise will have with her a Cowled Wizard, to aid her in any moves she makes against evil. Let is be known that she has nothing to fear from any magic-users when the wizard resides with her. Let is also be known that this wizard is our own servant, and that any attack against him, or any refusal to obey him will be met with our severest anger."

 Several low mutters. Nalia reddened with anger, and before she could stop herself, she called out, "I thank the Council for their noble gift. As noble a gift as a treacherous serpent can ever be! The Cowled Wizards left my ally rotting in incarceration. They use men as tools, they barter souls like food. If these kind of men are representatives of the Council, then I shudder to think what the Council is. My thanks once again, _honoured _Members."

 And she looked directly at the Cowled Wizard, before turning her back on the red silk curtains in a flurry of swirling robes. Her staff and boots thudding against the marble floor, Nalia left the Council building, in a rage.

* * * 

 _Playhouse, 20 Nightal, 1369 DR_

 It looked completely different. Next to the Five Flagons, a new building had sprung up out of nowhere. A curved building that had not been there a month before now stood, crafted from pure marble. Vines traced their way along the walls of the building, and outside, on the street, two statues of Kathryn stood, facing each other in the acts of playing harps of pure gold.

 On the steps just before the entrance, a priest of Milil stood, tearing off his silver harp insignia in sorrow as he cried, "Milil is dead! Mercy on his soul, but he is dead! I feel his absence in my heart, I feel his tune fading in my soul! Mercy on me! I turn to you, Kathryn, Lady of Harps to take me as one of your faithful!"

 Standing beside the Cowled Wizard who had remained silent throughout their travels through the Bridge District, Nalia watched as a soft pink glow appeared around the priest. His robes, once torn, knitted themselves together, and changed colour into a delicate pink. The insignia of the silver harp re-attached itself to his breast, but now the silver had turned to gold.

 He stood, and cried out: "Kathryn has heard my prayer! The Lady of All Song has taken her throne! Long live the Goddess of Song! Praise be to Kathryn!"

 And saying that, he marched underneath the arched doorway, entering the building, which Nalia realised, must be a temple to Kathryn. In awe, she approached one of the random citizens, asking them how this temple came to be here. 

 The citizen, an aging woman, cackled at her, "Milady, Samuel Thunderburp awoke last night, to a blinding pink glow suffusing his tavern. He saw the glow originating from his basement, and when he went to investigate, he saw the playhouse beneath the inn disappearing. They say that the playhouse is part of this new temple here, home to Kathryn, Lady of All Song. Beautiful, isn't it? I might pay my respects later to this new goddess… she sounds my type, all cheeky and flirtatious…"

 Nalia laughed good-naturedly. The Cowled Wizard faced her, and asked. "Maybe the stories are true…"

 "What stories, wizard?"

 The Cowled Wizard shrugged, "The ones that say your friend, the Bhaalspawn, ascended as a new deity…"

 "Oh yes, they are all true wizard. Maybe this will put things into perspective. You are allied to the Council. I am allied to a god who counts me as a friend. Try an manipulate me, wizard, and you will live to regret it."

 And so saying, Nalia uttered a transportation spell, which leaped her, Cernick and the four guards into the air, where they started hurtling, miles every second, back towards the keep, and the safety and peace that came with it.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten: Conference of Evil**

_The Heavens, 1 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 _"The __Church__ of __Kathryn__ grows daily. Already, the __Amnish__Church__ of All Song has accepted her rule. The agents of the de'Arnise woman and her friend Imoen, have spread their message of conversion as far south as Calimshan, and as far north as Silverymoon. The goddess herself has increased her might, up to the point that she even poses a threat to me. Her alliance with Mystra makes her even more dangerous, for she will act knowing that Lady Magic will support every move she makes, especially since Mystra will do anything to see my power shattered."_

_ Cyric finished speaking, and waited for one of the other gods to speak. He did not have to wait long, for Talos, his eyes crackling with the might of storms, bellowed, "The order imposed by this de'Arnise is unacceptable. Cyric, our alliance to break those lands has failed. Even your agent, with the power of madness at her fingertips, failed to stop the mage."_

_ Beshaba cackled, "Where is the might to kill her, anyway? Need I remind you that the skill that Nalia possesses with her magic is incredible? Should she desire it, she could march into Athkatla, and take control of the nation. And with her friend, Imoen, she could do anything."_

_ Umberlee shook her head. "No, as powerful as she is, there are those who serve us who are just as powerful. The Council will not fall so easily to her, and the Cowled Wizards would not let her take power. They remember too well how Nalia and the Bhaalspawn contributed to their loss of Spellhold."_

_ Shar chuckled, "With our help though, they have regained that fortress, and our key agents within their number are placed firmly. Soon, the wizards will be our tool. Even Nalia and Imoen together could not defeat the entire order of Cowled Wizards."_

_ The Lord of Madness frowned. "Though it is not just Imoen and Nalia. Imoen has brought to her side the aasimar daughters of Lathander and an air genasi- a prince amongst his kind. I can feel the heavens thrumming with their power…"_

_ Shar shrugged, "They cannot stand against all."_

_ The Sea Queen shrieked, "Then let us send all against them! Cyric, your Sythillisian Empire is almost ready to move. If we attack each servant of order and goodness before they can join their power, then chaos can tear the Empire of Amn apart easily. No matter what political standing de'Arnise has amongst mortals, she will fall to hordes of goblins, just as easily as any mage."  
 Talos nodded. "So that is what we must do? Bend all our might to destroying Amn, so that order cannot hope to prevail. I am willing to do this. My agents will begin their work, spreading the discord of evil."_

_ From the shadows, Loviatar hissed, "I have one agent, easily a match for this Nalia. I will send her into the lands. She will be a prime focus of our might. Nalia will be too busy dealing with this agent, that the other forces of evil will go unnoticed."_

_ "Then it is decided. Amn will fall to the convalescence of evil. Every force at our disposal will be unleashed. Nalia de'Arnise will die, and the __Church__ of __Kathryn__ will be shattered until all her worshippers are dead or turned away from the weakness of music. This, we have decided, this, we will do."_

_ And one by one, the evil gods left, until there was no-one remaining in that section of the heavens. All that was left to speak of such a vile plot was a faint after touch of malevolence that thrummed through the planes._


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven: Arrival**

_The de'Arnise keep, 2 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 The snows of deep winter were trapping the de'Arnise lands in a blanket of icy whiteness that glared threateningly. The leafless trees around the keep were now touched with frost and snow, and the distant river only managed a bare trickle through the clasp of ice that held the flow in check.

 Nalia de'Arnise walked on the slippery, icy battlements, wearing a cloak of heavy yellow wool, and a dark blue dress woven from fine cotton. Inside the layers of clothes, she felt warm, but her face and hands were freezing. Small sprinkles of snow, tumbling lightly from the sky, landed on her cheek, each one feeling like a tiny stab from a needle. 

 Seeing the extent of the winter, Nalia was glad that her factors had been able to purchase plenty of grain and meat from Amnwater to feed the inhabitants of her keep and land. It was starting to be a bad winter, and at least, with plenty of food being stored, there was one less problem to worry about.

 A gust of strong wind knocked her cloak, setting it flying behind her like a banner of glory and majesty. Chuckling to herself, Nalia thought that she looked like a character in one of the chivalry novels that Anomen used to read. Her eyes narrowed when she thought of Anomen, however. Their last conversation, a week ago in Amn had made her feel worse than she had done for a long time…

* * *

 _"She loves you, Anomen!"_

_ The knight turned to face her, face reddening with anger. "She loves me, does she, Nalia? Then tell me, wise mage and noble lady, why has she not visited me in my dreams as she does you? Why has there not been a miracle for me? Why did she leave me in the first place, turning from our love to the shameless pursuit of power?"_

_ Nalia stood, anger flashing through her like a summer storm. "You selfish, arrogant churl! Her foster father died for her, her friends Khalid and Dynaheir died for her! They died because of her Bhaalspawn blood! Throughout her life, nothing good had come of her heritage, and then she was given a chance to change all that. She was given a chance to become a god, to affect how things work in the Realms. Do you think it was an easy choice for her?"_

_ Anomen roared, and took a step forward. "Witch! You know nothing of our love! I understand all that, but our love was something good! She had the opportunity to make a fresh start, away from murder and the memory of Bhaal. She could have lived with me, and made a life! We could have had children!"_

_ Pulling herself to her full height, which was half-an-inch smaller than Anomen, Nalia growled, and said, "Kathryn told me how difficult it was for her to decide. She even told you that! She said she was sorry, that she still loved you! How can you turn your back on her like this, Anomen? All she asked you to do was remain true, but you surround yourself in self-pity and bitter turmoil like a cocoon of darkness!"_

_ Lord Delryn yelled, in a voice cracking with authority and anger. "You have no idea! She spoke to me, Nalia! Just before she ascended, she told me that our love would be eternal, that the gods themselves would know of her commitment to me, that nothing could ever separate our entwined paths! And then she leapt into the heavens, leaving me behind here without her loving embrace, without her soft words and music! Tell me that she loves me, Nalia, because I do not believe it! There is no love anymore, not for anyone! It is a false aspiration. There is nothing but duty… pure, mindless, duty…"_

_ Nalia shook her head, "Anomen, you have no idea."_

_ The knight shrugged. "I have more idea than you, Nalia. Now, I would ask you to leave, please, I tire of this endless angst. I just want to forget about it, and continue with my work here in Athkatla."_

* * * 

 Nalia blinked away a tear.

 The pain Anomen was experienced touched a chord in her heart. She did not know why Kathryn didn't appear to the knight, to drive away his self-doubts, but there was doubtless a good reason. All he needed to do was show some faith in the goddess, and she would repay him, and let him know the truth about their love, and why things had happened the way that they had.

 Shivering, Nalia pulled her flapping cloak tighter around her form, and stared out at the horizon, making out dim, hazy shapes in the endlessly rolling, swirling snow. At least two horsemen, were riding directly towards the keep, at a speed that suggested a terrible urgency. 

 Nalia turned, and yelled to the guards on duty to open the gate, and as she did so, she started striding down the steps into the courtyard. If the riders were hostile, then her magic could deal with them easily. If they were friendly, then it was better she met them sooner, rather than later.

 Shouts echoed through the howling winds, and slowly the drawbridge was lowered, and the recently rebuilt portcullis was raised. Nalia waited, a spell of searing flame hovering on her lips, as the two riders rode over the drawbridge, hooves clattering noisily. When they entered the courtyard, sparks leapt where they struck the stone floor. Nalia raised a hand in greeting,

 "Greetings strangers, state your name and your business on this cold winter's day!"

 There was a low, rumbling laugh, which Nalia recognised instantly. Both riders dismounted. The rider on the left was wearing shining armour of the highest quality, and on his back was the great two-handed sword, Carsomyr. Gauntleted hands lifted the helm from his head, revealing a scarred face, and bright white hair, but eyes that sang with exuberant vitality.

 "Keldorn, Paladin of the Most Radiant Heart, my lady de'Arnise. I request most humbly the honour of guesting in your noble abode tonight."

 Nalia dashed forward, and hugged the knight, wincing as his hard armour dug into her ribs. She rolled her eyes. "Are you never going to walk around without that old can around you, Keldorn?" 

 Laughing, she didn't wait for an answer, instead turning to face the second rider, who was a large and portly man wearing robes of dark brown and bearing the rose medallion of Chauntea, Goddess of Nature. Nalia bowed in respect. "Welcome, priest, to my home. I bid you welcome."

 The priest nodded, and then laughed loudly, a merry sound. "My thanks, Lady Nalia! My name is Andrew. Father Andrew… I hope tonight I can feast in your great hall, with a mug of warm ale and a prayer to the bounty of nature."

 Nalia said, "Verily, good sir. Those small comforts, I can provide."

 Keldorn said gruffly, "Good, good. Now Nalia, I have many things to speak to you about… and very few of them carry good news. Shall we enter? This snow is driving me mad, and my armour will be a pain to clean. It rusts far too easily."

* * * 

 They sat in the library, with a roasting, flaring fire in the heart. Nalia's major domo sat there- Harald, his name was, hired from Amnwater. He had worked as a clerk here in her father's time, and so knew what was required to make the de'Arnise holding function to its best ability. An elderly man, with greying hair, he still possessed a great faculty of wits, which Nalia admired.

 Captain Cernick sat beside her, wearing a tunic and trousers of pale blue wool. Father Andrew sat next to him, wearing a clean robe borrowed from one of the servants. The Cowled Wizard stood to one side, slightly hidden by the shadows in the library.

 Algerias looked just like his brother, the Tolgerias who had invaded the planar sphere, attempting to wrest it from Lavok. Nalia herself had killed him with a death spell, and it unnerved her to see somebody that looked exactly like him, standing in the very room. 

 It had taken him about a week to finally remove his cowl, and while Nalia did not like him any more, she respected him slightly, for having the courage to reveal his face… it took a real man to deal away from concealing cloth.

 Nalia listened as Keldorn spoke, "The Order has noted an alarming increase in activities of every kind within the borders of Amn. Three of our best, most skilled paladins have been cut down by vampires who have infested the Graveyard District of Athkatla. While none of them approach the power of Bodhi, they still pose a threat which is not easy to deal with. Necromancers have set themselves up in Nashkel, apparently, operating from a site near the mines. The undead are plaguing the small town, and are making moves into the surrounding regions. We have dispatched a large force to eliminate them." 

 He paused, drawing breath. "Everywhere in Amn, evil is rising. The Order has few men with which to fight, and so is concentrating on defeating the threats closest to the City of Coin. Nashkel was a… uh… special circumstance."

 Nalia raised an eyebrow. "Keldorn, explain."

 The paladin shrugged, "Well, Nalia. The son of Prelate Wessallen has marched off on his first quest there. He is a talented boy, who reminds me much of Anomen, but he has not got the power- yet- to deal with a cell of necromancers. Wessallen has ordered paladins to rescue the boy, before he can be killed. As a default, he also ordered the necromancers killed."

 Algerias murmured, in his high-pitched, nasal voice, "Why have the Cowled Wizards not been informed, Lord Firecam? Rogue wizards are our affair, to deal with in whatever way we see fit."

 Distaste evident on his face, Keldorn said simply. "The Order lives for justice, wizard. Whether or not the guilty party is a wizard, we will bring them to justice. Best you remember that, whippersnapper. The only thing that saved your order from the Prelate were your pleas to the Council. Backed up, I believe, with plenty of coin and promised favours."

 Tension crackled. Algerias stepped out of the shadows. "You accuse my order of injustice, old man? Such an accusation must be made in the public courts, or not at all. That is one of the oldest laws of Amn."

 Keldorn sniffed, not intimidated in the slightest. "The oldest law of mankind is that power corrupts, and your wizards have far too much power for my liking. While you held Spellhold, you doomed hundreds of innocent wizards who just happened to go against the express wishes of a few senior members to a life of madness and terror. I warn you, wizard, if I find that such actions continue, I will implement the necessary justice, without consulting the Council."

 Algerias' eyes widened, and then narrowed with anger. "Treachery!"

 Smiling, the paladin shook his head. "No, it is my loyalty to honour and duty. Sometimes you wouldn't no about." He turned away, looking at Nalia. "Why is he here anyway, Nalia? I thought you hated the Cowled Ones."

 Nalia sighed. "The Council. He is meant to aid me against external threats of magic. Not that I can't defend myself with skill. I feel quite insulted that the leader of the Cowled Wizards wasn't placed here. An apprentice of this skill is hardly able enough to defend me, unless he wants to protect me against rabid rabbits."

 Keldorn chuckled. "Or mice, Nalia."

 Captain Cernick cut through the insulting banter. "Perhaps, good paladin, you could continue with telling us your news. I am growing quite worried, and would like to know all the facts."

 The paladin nodded. "Very well. As I said, evil is growing out of hand. The Order has informed the Council, who have placed their active troops throughout the nation on full alert. I doubt though, that these evils will directly attack the military… yet."

 Nalia nodded, "No, at the moment, they will be content with removing key figures vital to the defence of Amn." She paled. "Have you informed the garrison leaders on the borders? They will be most at threat."

 Again, the paladin nodded. "Yes. Ten paladins have been sent to each fort, to protect the leaders from harm. The chapter house is quite empty, Nalia, filled with nobody but the young and very old. I am the last to have been sent, and I have been sent to you. The Oracle of Oghma in Athkatla has said the gods plot your death. Needless to say, Nalia, you are probably the most important part of Amn's defence, and the forces of evil will try to remove you first. The Council has even seen the logic of this, and have dispatched some knights from Eshpurta, who will arrive in about a month. Until that month has passed though, you are in grave danger, as is anyone else with more than a little power."

 Cernick spoke with alarm. "Tomas!"

 Nalia said, placating, "Do not worry, Cernick. He is due to return today. Once he is here, he can stay, where he is safe. Kathryn will not want to lose her High Priest…"

 Keldorn said, "And Amn will not want to lose him either."

 There was a rap on the door, and a red-faced servant dashed in. He bowed once, and then stuttered, "L-l-l-lady… there is an army of ogres on the road towards us. They are marching for the gates!"

 Cernick leapt to his feet, followed shortly by Nalia. The captain ordered, "Tell the guards to shut the gate and raise the drawbridge. Get the walls manned, and make sure no section of the keep is left unguarded."

 Algerias closed his eyes, and whispered in a panicked voice. "Too late…"


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve: Demons and Doubts**

_The de'Arnise keep, 2 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 Nalia stared as the ogre lumbered towards her. Narrowing her eyes, she moved towards it, filled with rage. Why couldn't these creatures just leave her keep alone? How many times had it fallen to rabid beasts? Without realising that she had done so, Nalia reached into her robes, and pulled out a fist of powdered brimstone, which she threw towards the ogre, incanting a simple cantrip.

 Seized by magic, the beast exploded into searing flames, flames that lit up the dim corridor. Nalia stepped over the burning corpse, and ran quickly towards the stairs that led into the cellar. She knew what the ogres had come for. They were attacking her, hoping that she would defend the keep, leaving the vault undefended.

 Well Keldorn was strong enough to defend the keep for now, and hopefully Algerias would lend his spells to aid them. Nalia had to make sure that the powerful magic items hidden in her keep would not be stolen.

 Another ogre roared and thrashed towards her with its huge, spiked club. Nalia was too close to attempt a massive spell, and instead just slapped her hands together, with a few simple words calling a massive blast of flame to surround her hands. The ogre swung with its club, but the solid wood encountered the fire, and burst into ash. 

 Without drawing breath, Nalia wrapped her hands round the creature's neck, and held them there until he started to burn, and then she ran past him. Rounding the corner, she sent a spinning blast of chain lightning, and smiled as it touched ogre after ogre, turning them into blackened bodies.

 They thought they could stand against her? 

 Fools, one and all!

 Nalia stopped for a moment, and took several minutes to surround herself in spell protections. And then, confident that she was safe, she moved towards the vault door. Around the iron door were the bodies of about thirty ogres, all having been caught in the magic of her traps. But despite the horrendous loss of life, there had still been enough ogres left to break open the door.

 The vault was open.

 Shouting in anger, Nalia sped through the vault, and stared at four black-and-green robed wizards, glaring at her with hatred. Zhentarim. Cursing, Nalia uttered a powerful spell, sending a bolt of searing energy flying towards one of the wizards. The man tried to raise a barrier, but he was cut down before he could.

 The other three hastily summoned their own barriers, and then with complicated gestures, opened three gates to the demon realms. Nalia paled, and took a step backwards. The wizards were desperate indeed, to call such monstrosities into her keep. If they were not properly protected, it would mean their death.

 But Zhentarim would obviously be well protected. 

 They dealt with demons on a regular basis.

 Without wasting time, Nalia sent a blast of freezing ice towards the demons. It rolled over them- their screams echoed through the vault- and then faded, but the demons still stood there, and now they turned with golden eyes fixed firmly on the powerful mage who defied them.

 A bolt of sizzling gold struck one of the demons- it flinched. A finger of death, a slash of cruel purple energy hit directly the chest of another- it groaned, but did not crumple. Two bolts of lightning ripped through all three, and started reflecting off the stone walls. Nalia flung herself to one side as the lightning bolts sizzled towards her, the blue energy crackling like some strange animal. 

 Leaping to her feet, Nalia whispered another spell, one she had taken from a wizard loyal to one of the Five. Larvok's Major Drain. A trickle of grey mist sprang from her fingertips, shrouding one of the demons. It struggled, but as the spell took hold, those struggles became weaker and weaker, until it stopped struggling all together, collapsing to the floor- dead.

 Nalia felt the energy of the demon pulsing into her, driving away her tiredness. Fixing the two remaining demons, Nalia sent another rolling, churning cone of cold towards them. The demons avoided it.

 Then they were upon her.

 The wizard de'Arnise grabbed a pulsating staff from the wall, and used it to block the vicious attack from one of the claws. But there were another seven claws to block- and that was from just one of the creatures.

 Grunting, Nalia was thrown against the wall. 

 Praise to Kathryn and Mystra both, but her iron skins enchantment had protected her against the tearing attacks of the demons. But they wouldn't for long. Nalia felt something like shame rise inside her. She had stood against fire giants alone. Lowly demons such as these should pose no problem. 

 She had just grown too unused to fighting.

 With a shout, Nalia uttered two consecutive sunburst spells, which sent the demons stumbling back from her. Seizing the advantage, Nalia released a contingency of magic missiles, which struck one of the demons. With a primal shriek, it convulsed, and then died. The last demon started to move towards her, but with a shout of rage, Nalia struck it across the head with her staff. It groaned, and fell to the floor, also dead.

 Nalia then moved towards the wizards, who were standing, awed. Sneering, Nalia reached into her components pouch, filled with needles, and gestured. They span for a while, above her head, and then thudded towards the wizards. They tore around them, breaking down barriers and protections. With each barrier broken, one needle disappeared. When the wizards were left defenceless, the needles broke into hundreds of tiny specs of light.

 "Time to die, wizards."

 Nalia uttered a death spell, and sent it blasting towards the three shocked, silent wizards. They died without a single cry, their bodies thumping heavily onto the stone floor. 

 Above, the sounds of battle were fading.

* * * 

 "It was a complete victory. All the ogres were destroyed. Algerias acquitted himself very well, accounting for a third of the ogres himself. Perhaps we should be wary of him…"

 Keldorn was smiling, enthused by the victory. He was much like her, an adventurer who had returned to the business of governing an estate. Nalia, Keldorn and Anomen, all rulers of powerful houses, all adventurers of great skill… or so they were supposed to be.

 "I nearly died, Keldorn."

 The paladin said, "I'm not surprised. Three demons, taking you by surprise like that. I don't think I could have killed them. Not to mention the fact that you had very few spell components on you, as you were not expecting an attack…"

 Nalia sighed. "If it wasn't for Algerias, I don't think I would have arrived in time to rescue the equipment in the vault. How did he know the ogres had transported in? This is meant to be my keep, how come he knows what is happening before I do?"

 Behind her, the nasal voice whispered, "Because I am not worried constantly about the people in my care. I have no-one to look after except myself, so my mind is free to focus on disturbances in the magical fabric here. I could _feel _the gate the Zhentarim made, just as I could _feel _the demons attacking you. My lady, you are lucky to be alive. They were no ordinary demons, they were sent by Cyric himself to destroy you, and your soul."

 She jumped. "What are you doing here?"

 Algerias bowed sardonically. "I was merely returning from the battle, and heard you talking to the noble paladin, here. Rather than let you jump to the conclusion that I was involved in the attack somehow, I decided to explain. Forgive me, perhaps next time I should let the distrust grow here, so that Cyric's goals are easier for him to accomplish. If you will excuse me, I have spells to commit to my memory once again, in case we are attacked while vulnerable."

 The wizard pushed past them on the stairs, and walked quickly away. His boots tapped heavily and his robes swirling as he moved. Nalia could sense his anger from here, even though it was masterfully concealed from his voice.

 She let him walk.

 Keldorn said to her, "He did not hold back in the slightest. He attacked the ogres as if it was his keep to defend. Perhaps we have got the wrong impression of him, Nalia."

 Nalia frowned. "I am unsure. Perhaps I have grown too cynical lately, but I cannot bring myself to trust a wizard forced on me by the Council. I am loath to make him prove his loyalty further, because to do so would make it obvious that I doubt him, but… well, these are thoughts for another day, Keldorn. At the moment, we have a feast to get ready for."

* * * 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen: Hole**

_The southern de'Arnise lands, 7 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 They rode through the snow, scattering ice as they pounded along the road.

 Nalia led, followed by Cernick, and then Andrew, who moaned continuously about his back and his stomach. The priest of Chauntea was good-natured, but prone to moaning about things again and again, which was a habit that Nalia found annoying. 

 Although Cernick and Andrew were competent, she would have felt better with Keldorn by her side. Although she could not begrudge the paladin for returning to Athkatla to deal with a sickness his children had contracted, she felt the lack of his indomitable will beside her.

 And he would have been a great help in dealing with the undead that were supposed to have taken root in the southernmost reaches of her land. The farmer that had brought the tidings had been half-dead, clawed and bitten by ghouls, eager for tender, living flesh. But it was good that his news had been delivered, so that Nalia could drive the evil from her lands.

 She sighed.

 Throughout Amn, the reports of evil beasts and creatures were increasing. Amnwater had been raided several times by hobgoblins, but had been saved through the efforts of the local militia, who were experienced in dealing with such creature, although not in such great numbers.

 Athkatla remained safe, though rumours stated that it was dangerous to walk the streets at night, for vampires and ghosts preyed upon the foolish and weak, draining them of blood and life, leaving them as empty husks discarded on the cold stone slabs of the City of Coin.

 Dark times.

 Nalia looked up at the sun. As usual in winter, it was bright, but lacked heat. The day itself was splendid, with not falling snow, and with the sun making the whiteness gleam like a fresh blanket. Nalia remembered her early winters here, learning magic at the foot of Elmar, the old keep wizard.

 He had left three years ago, for Waterdeep, proudly announcing that his pupil had far surpassed his skills. Nalia missed his patient teaching methods and his kind-hearted ways that had taught her how to see commoners as people, rather than as walking investments in money.

 They rode past a tiny farmhouse, and slowed as an elderly woman called out, "Bless you, ma'am! Bless you for all ye've done for us!"

 Nalia waved in thanks- she was riding too quickly to do much else, and she would not have wanted to speak with the woman anyway. All too often, they were full of nothing but praise, which made Nalia feel uncomfortable.

 They rode on, increasing speed as they did so.

* * * 

  "We are too late," Nalia whispered her voice defeated and quiet. "The poor farmer's family… his home and livelihood… by the gods, I will have revenge on the creatures that have done this."

 Cernick dismounted, and unsheathed his two-handed sword, and cautiously started to examine the remnants of the farmhouse.

 The farmhouse that was supposed to have been under threat was now a charred, smoking ruin. Blood had been spattered all across the ruin. With a pale face, Nalia saw the body of the wife, torn apart by claws. There was no sign of the children.

 "Where are they?" Andrew's voice was horrified. "Where are the children?"

 Nalia sighed, "They must have been taken… the bastards, why take children, they are innocent and weak… what is the point in harming them?"

 Cernick shouted suddenly, "Wait! They are here! They are safe, they are well!"

 Father Andrew dismounted immediately, moving as quickly as his bulk allowed towards where Cernick stood, above a small bed. Nalia breathed in relief. At least they had come in time to rescue the children.

 Her captain pulled out first one child, and then the next. They seemed slightly pale, though Nalia supposed that was only natural because they had seen their mother torn apart before their very eyes. She dismounted, and walked over to the children.

 One was a young girl, the other a young boy. Both had dark black hair, and pale grey eyes that seemed mature for their tender age. Nalia knelt beside them, and whispered, "It's okay now, children. I am here, nothing will harm you while I am with you…"

 Andrew muttered something under his breath, it sounded like a prayer. Nalia stood, and walked over to him quietly before murmuring in his ear. "What is it, Andrew? What can you sense?"

 The priest of Chauntea turned to face her, his eyes fearful and distant. "Great evil, Nalia… its reek suffuses the earth around us. I can feel my Goddess rebelling against such disorder present in her domain. I know not what evil has seized this place, but it is close… and it is powerful."

 Nalia nodded. She too could feel the overpowering sense of wrongness about this place, a feeling of malice that pressed around them, plaguing their minds and senses, threatening to wash over them like a great ocean.

 Cernick and Nalia started to examine the ruins, and Andrew stayed with the children, making sure that they were well. Neither of the children had spoken a single word… they were obviously in deep shock.

 With distaste, Nalia approached the butchered corpse of the mother, a broad, big-boned woman whose shock of red hair and a plethora of freckles spoke of great fiery strength. To see a life ended so brutally… it was something Nalia hated about her life as an adventurer, and now as a ruler of lands and peoples.

 Saying a silent prayer for the woman's departing soul, Nalia made to turn away, but a gleam made her stop. Gently, she moved the woman's body, revealing a trapdoor of solid oak. Father Andrew walked over to her, and looked at the trapdoor, his face pale. "The evil gets stronger here…"

 Cernick joined them. "Lady, perhaps we should save this for another time. Let us take the children to the keep, and get them healed and rested. We can return with Keldorn and the wizard when they return from Athkatla."

 Andrew shook his head. "No. We cannot leave such evil here unchallenged. It will move on if we leave now, to plague other people and to murder and terrorise other children. We have to stop it here."

 Nalia was silent for a while, before she said, "I agree with Andrew, we have to fight this thing, whatever it is. Cernick, if you want, you can take the children back to the keep. They cannot come with us."

 Her captain said, "No. I will go with you, Nalia."

 The priest of Chauntea asked, "What of the children, then? They cannot stay out here, anyone may attack them. Nalia, they must come down here with us. Your power is enough to defeat this thing, I think. The children will be safer with us, than without us."

 Nalia looked at the two, both wide-eyed and scared, and then nodded. "Very well, they will come down with us. Cernick, open the trapdoor. Let's try and get this over before nightfall."

 Her captain walked over to the slab of wood, and pulled it up using its handle. A cloud of dust and grime flew over them. Nalia coughed. It smelt of rotting flesh, of decay and neglect… of dried blood… of ancient bones…

 She had smelt it before…

 Athkatla… the Graveyard District…

 Saradush… the prisons…

 Vampires!

 Shivering, Nalia took the first step into the icy, inky blackness of the hole. The daylight was lost to them in just a few minutes of walking. They were entering the realms of death…

* * * 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen: Loviatar's Agent**

_Southern de'Arnise lands, 7 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 The air was musty and thick with the scent of cloying death, which grew stronger with every step they took. Occasionally, Nalia would look at the floor, and see a half-decayed corpse lying in positions that spoke of complete agony. Most of their faces were missing, and sewn to their stomach…

 Nausea rose in her stomach with every step.

 Such casual cruelty was worthy of only the worst evil. It matched the blood and slaughter that had occurred within the keep. Nalia whispered a prayer to Kathryn and Mystra, praying that she would have the strength to stand against whatever evil lurked in this dank, forsaken hole.

 The walls were splashed with blood, hundreds of tiny droplets scattered everywhere. Nalia shuddered- this place was not a new place… from the amount of dust it looked ancient…

 She smiled slightly.

 The evil in this place probably did not want her to see so much, but an advanced infravision spell cast on Cernick, Andrew and herself allowed them to see as if it were midday.

 The priest of Chauntea was pale, and whenever they passed a corpse, he would tug the children close to him, and launch a keening litany for their departed souls, praying that they reside in peace eternal.

 Strangely, the children did not seem to be affected by the slaughter around them. Nalia looked into their strange eyes that were flecked with touches of red, and saw nothing in them… no reaction at all, to anything. 

 How terrible it was to have these things happen to children, once so innocent and pure, now cursed enough to have to traverse these passages of evil, these marble corridors of ignobility.

 They passed another body, this one more fresh than the others, for occasionally a drop of blood would leak from the slashed wrists of the poor victim. As they were about to walk past the most recent of the faceless victims, Nalia heard a gurgling rasp leave its throat. 

 Her skin itched with horror.

 The body was still _alive._ The person still breathed, with his face sewn into his stomach! Nalia couldn't stop herself this time- she vomited, gagging with a white face. Cernick supported her as he did so, his face bleak.

 "Such horror…"

 Nalia wiped the vomit from her chin, and turned groggily back to the corpse that shivered slightly- breathing. Steadying her staff in her two hands, she approached the person, and raised the staff above her head, bringing it crashing down. A jerk and the faceless victim fell still, breathing out in relief.

 Father Andrew murmured, "Chauntea bless and keep his soul…"

 They turned to move forward, but a strange feeling ran around them. Nalia closed her eyes. There was a sense of menace, a sense of power, shivering and quivering gently. Opening her eyes, she cursed herself for a fool. There had been a contingency placed on the dying person, so that if the final mercy was delivered, a spell would be activated. What a fool…

 Her thoughts were lost as she saw the affects of the unleashed spell. All around them, along the endless corridor that they had walked down, the faceless corpses started to raise, eyes shining yellow with desire for flesh… and blood.

 Nalia looked at the parody of life that these corpses possessed, and with a dark fury setting within her eyes, she advanced with her staff held before her. The staff of the magi was her most prized possession, for it gave her more power than most mages ever had. Combined with the numerous rings and amulets from the vault Nalia made a more than formidable opponent.

 She rattled off a series of chants- the first opened up a telepathic link with the undead. The second sent a number of barely visible red sparks zooming through those links, searching for the mind that controlled the skeletons. The third and final chant started a mental duel with the controller of the skeletons…

 Nalia shrieked!

 _Little girl… you wish to set your mind against mine, do you? Silly… silly girl… let me show you how easy it would be for me to shatter your mind without sparing more than perfunctory effort…_

She stumbled, beset by this strangely seductive voice, a voice that thrilled as if dripping in honey. But there was something sinister about it, something that courted the darkness. Nalia found her mental resistance crumbling as this voce delicately moved through her mind, working past her defences like a mist.

 "Stop!"  
 Her gasp echoed throughout the corridor. In her mind, Nalia heard a low snigger. _Stop, my pretty? Why, when I am having so much fun? Let me search through your memories… hold tightly, little one, this will hurt badly…_

Nalia sobbed, and thrashed wildly as thousands of invisible shards of magic entered her skull, seeking out what lay within her mind. Humiliation flared, along with fear and a touch of self-loathing. How over-confident! How easily she had fallen for the trap, and then played right into the hands of this evil force.

 Light flared.

 She stood over the body of her father, watching as the massive Tor'Gal bore down on her, his bulk sending shivers of fear through her skin. She screamed.

 And fire giants surrounded her, about to beat her to death with their spiked clubs. Again, she screamed.

 And this time she was covered in thousands of poisonous spiders, all itching to devour her warm corpse.

 _Nice, isn't it, my little one…_

Gripped by nightmares, Nalia shrieked endlessly.

* * * 

  Surprisingly, it was Father Andrew who reacted first. He tore the symbol of Chauntea from around his neck, and pressed it to Nalia's forehead, yelling with a booming voice, "Be gone vile spirit, from the mind of this woman! By the grace of Chauntea, I command thee!"

 There was a cry of rage, and something black was flung out of Nalia's eyes, fading into the wall before anyone could hinder it. Nalia collapsed to the floor, her eyes watering and her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

 "Get up, Nalia! We need your magic to fight these things!"  
 Father Andrew straightened, and faced the advancing corpses determinedly, and then shouted, "You may need the wizard, Cernick, but I do not. I am the power of Chauntea! Back, back agents of death! Back, by the divine grace of Chauntea!"

 Three corpses were thrown away from Andrew with great force, and when they fell to the floor, they did not move again. Taking a belligerent step forward, Andrew shouted again, "Back, by the grace of Chauntea!"

 Again, corpses wilted when faced by Andrew's power. Cernick left Nalia's side, and looked around for the children. They were huddled behind Nalia. For now at least, they were safe. Levelling his sword, Cernick shouted, "De'Arnise! De'Arnise!"

 He leapt into the fray, chopping and hacking this way and that with his sword. Magical light flowed along the blade as it absorbed the magical energies sustaining the undead corpses. 

 For a moment it seemed that Cernick and Andrew in unison could defeat the corpses and save the day, but it soon became apparent that the numbers were far too great. Cernick stumbled as a corpse sliced him across the face with sharp claws. Luckily, Andrew was there to gesture with his symbol and send the corpse back to death, but it was clear that they could not stand against the corpses.

 Cernick yelled, panicked, "Nalia! Get up, for the god's sake!"

 The wizard stirred slightly, still shivering. Whatever had harmed her mind had managed to cause her real pain. Andrew roared, and flung himself onto a press of corpses, shouting, "Chauntea!"  
 Most of the corpses were thrown away from him, but a few did not, and fell underneath his bulk- not dead though. Their claws started tearing at his robes. Grunting and praying, Andrew punched and hit the faces of the corpses, though he could do little harm to them. One of the corpses tore away the symbol from his hand, and he cursed. The symbol was the source of most of his power.

 Ignoring Nalia for now, Cernick rushed to Andrew's rescue, shouting his battle cry, and stabbing this way and that in a blind effort to rescue the priest. It succeeded, but by then he was so far away from Nalia that he could only watch helplessly as a press of corpses lumbered over to the barely conscious wizard.

* * * 

  Nalia heard the sounds of battle, and struggled to regain her senses. She could feel the evil all around her- a cloying press… or was it the dead bodies that had risen again to kill them all? She groaned.

 Above her, she saw bright yellow eyes, and she suddenly felt a sharp pain rip across her face. Blood leaked into her mouth as her cheek was lacerated by the nails of the corpses. Frowning, she struggled against the press, trying desperately to cram some air into her failing lungs.

 Desperation gave her strength, and with quickly utter words and a sharp punching gesture, she unleashed a sunburst contingency. The corpses scattered, and flames started to catch. Leaning heavily on her staff, Nalia stood, and took stock.

 Cernick and Andrew were pressed against the wall by about thirteen of the undead beasts. They would not last long. With a screamed incantation, Nalia sent a death spell humming through the air. It hit the floor in the centre of the group of corpses, and, silently, they crumpled to the ground, finally dead.

 Nalia breathed again, as all around them, the corpses wilted. There was a whispered curse of annoyance, and then she sensed energy build up around them. Urgently, Andrew said, "The evil comes for us! It is here! I can feel it!"

 But nobody came.

 She smiled. "Andrew, maybe we have beaten it."

 He shook his head. "It is closer than ever… I can feel it beside us… Chauntea grant me mercy, but I know it is with us. Is it invisible?"

 Nalia frowned, and warily, chanted a detect invisibility spell. Nothing happened. She attempted a half-hearted laugh. "See, Andrew… we must have defeated it…"  
 But she knew she was fooling herself. Now, she herself could feel the evil. The nauseating feel of it rising in her throat… it was awful… there were eddying movements in the shadows as the darkness responded to the arrival of the source of the undead… Nalia gripped her staff more tightly, "Andrew, where is it?"

 The priest shook his head, pale. His robes, torn, and his messed hair made him appear defeated, and his voice shook and quivered. This was affecting him badly. "I don't know, Nalia! I just don't…"

 He stopped suddenly, and however pale his face had been before, it grew far paler. Andrew bent down and picked up the rose symbol of Chauntea, which he held up to his lips. Tears sped down his face, and Nalia saw with embarrassment, a wetness run down the front of his robes. He had wet himself.

 "Oh, Chauntea, no! Nalia… we… we are doomed!"  
 Nalia took a step back, and Andrew flung out of his hand. "Move no further! Stop, Nalia, go no closer to those children! For the gods' mercy, make no more move…"

 Eyebrow raised, Nalia said, "Andrew, I think this place has worried you badly. What is wrong with the children?"

 In a hushed voice, Andrew choked, "What if the evil is not down here… what if the evil has been with us since we arrived at the farmhouse… what if the evil, is those children there!"

 Fear!

 Nalia whirled, and turned to face the two children, who giggled sillily. The girl turned to face the boy, and whispered to him, "I think they know, brother… I think they know about us…"  
 The boy laughed, and Nalia cringed when she sensed the dark undertones within his voice, "I think they know too, sister… what shall we do?"

 The girl sniggered, "The mistress wants them… alive… will we obey? They do look succulent… very… tasty…"

 Another cruel laugh. "Yes, mother didn't have enough blood, did she?"

 "No, brother… mother did not…"

 Nalia screamed in abject terror, as the children leapt for them, eyes blazing red, and fangs slicing through their gums. Vampires! The children were vampires! Nalia moved her staff urgently, and knocked one of the children with all her strength, but the girl only flinched slightly, before tearing the staff from her hand. 

 The boy leapt on her back, and laughed, insane. His icy cold fingers clutched at Nalia's hands, and hot agony coursed through them when he squeezed with the strength of a vice. Nalia felt her fingers break.

 The girl gripped her other hand, and pulled. That hand broke too.

 Nalia took a step back. Her hands were broken!

 They hung, uselessly and painfully. Without her hands, she could not cast!

 Andrew was shouting something, but he was thrown against the wall. He slumped, and when he tried to stand, the girl was in front of him, staring at him with her deep red eyes. Nalia watched helplessly as Andrew's face became slack, and then he started to sway slowly… completely under the control of the vampire. The same had happened to Cernick, who dropped his sword easily as the boy held his hands around his neck, eyes glittering with malevolent power.

 Nalia shivered, and the girl crooned. "Don't worry, lady… the mistress comes… soon, we will enjoy ourselves…"

 The wizard de'Arnise tried to move her hands to cast a spell, but the pain was unbearable. The sudden laughter of the children made Nalia flinch. Turning to face the darker end of the corridor, she paled. 

 A dark mass of shadow was speeding towards them.

 The agent of evil had come.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen: ****Temple**** of ****Torment******

_Southern de'Arnise lands, 7 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 Nalia blinked, and groggily opened her eyes. 

 She lay in a massive chamber, with a ceiling that extended for about twenty metres into the solid earth. The ceiling was crafted from heavy black marble, with veins of glittering gold. Massive pillars reached down, painted with the images of dying children, soldiers being bent backwards over racks of hot iron, of bleeding, torn bodies all screaming in constant pain.

 The images and the aura of hopelessness that surrounded each painting on the pillars made Nalia shiver. As she did so, her eyes were drawn to the centre of the room, a massive red altar, on which a painted whip of black, with nine strings, could be seen.

 Loviatar… Goddess of Pain and Torment…

 Her skin feeling more cold than it had before, Nalia struggled against the heavy chains that bound her to one of the pillars. 

 _Naughty, naughty, little child… don't try and escape me… you won't get very far…_

The voice that stirred through her mind was lazy, effortless and seemed to thrill with vice and corruption. Nalia gritted her teeth, because she could feel the intent of this voice to cause her as much pain as possible.

 _Yes, little one… I do want that…_

A shadow appeared in front of Nalia, quivering and swirling like smoke. The shadow slowly gathered around itself, solidifying, becoming more and more corporeal… slowly, the figure gained shape.

 It gained the shape of a tall woman with ice-white skin; lurid scarlet lips and glittering feral eyes of amber. Nalia could see the lethal tips of pure white fangs, and felt an itching conjuration of fear slam down her spine.

 _Don't be afraid, child… soon you will be experiencing the pleasure of my pain… you will be close to my mistress… you will eventually embrace her teaching, and march into the Realms as my ally… and what a glorious day that would be…_

Nalia shook her head. "No! I will not serve Loviatar!"

 The vampire's eyebrow rose. _No? Such strength of will is impressive… it is a pity your Captain of the Guard and that annoying fat priest do not share your commitment to the forces of goodness… look at them… see how they enjoy dealing pain…_

Inadvertently, Nalia turned to look at the altar, and saw Cernick and Andrew wearing dark robes. They were laughing at a young woman who lay bound to the altar, and every so often they could stab her with tiny needles that left blistering black marks on her skin.

 "Lies! Illusions!"

 The vampire chuckled, and moved closer towards Nalia, her shimmering black dress moving lightly across her body, revealing the curves, hinting at everything yet revealing nothing.

 _Pretty little child… how easily you deny the simple truth… _

She was too close, Nalia decided. Her eyes were far too close, and the scarlet lips were almost touching her own. Nalia tried to move away, but she was held by the gaze of the vampire. Slowly, with a caressing care, the vampire kissed her, and then with shocking speed moved back.

 Nalia felt sick. She could smell the decay on her, she could smell the death!

 _Nice?_

Shaking her head, she cried, "No! Leave me be creature! Leave this place!"

 With a piercing laugh, the vampire advanced towards her again. _You cannot command me, little one… you have not the power, and even if you did, no-one commands Velissa but the mistress… you are stuck here, child… stuck here, with me…_

Tears, salty, ran down Nalia's cheek. "Why did you draw me here?"

 _Little one… I do not have to tell you anything…_

Rage snapped within her breast, and Nalia tried to move her fingers to cast a spell. If the children vampires had not surprised her, she would be in a far different position now! Damn her slow reactions!

 Her lips moved in a simple spell, and somehow her fingers managed to move in the correct way, despite the shrieking pain within her broken hands. Five magic missiles leapt from her pointed hands, striking the vampire with force.

 A snarl, and the vampire's face transformed into something just as beautiful, but far more horrifying. The fangs extended until they were the length of dagger blades, and the eyes crackled with fury.

 _You will regret that! You will lie in languishing pain unimagined until you renounce your soul, and turn to my darkness!_

Nalia spat in her face. "Not your darkness, creature. Loviatar rules the darkness, you are her mindless slave. See how easily you obey her words? You are a pawn, nothing more!"

 The rage disappeared from the vampire's eyes, until they flickered with barely contained amusement. _I do not care. My mistress gives me great power, which I use for my own ends, unless she commands me otherwise. But all routes lead to inflicted pain, and that is what I live for… there is nothing greater…_

The wizard glared at the vampire, "I have killed hundreds of your kind before this, and I will kill you just as easily as I killed Bodhi and her foul minions!"

 A hysterical laugh. _Little baby! I could almost take offence… you liken my power to that of Bodhi? That weakling is not worthy to stand at my side. My beautiful children could defeat Bodhi within seconds… I, Nalia… I am so much more than Bodhi. No… you will not kill me easily… in fact, you will not kill me at all…_

Nalia nodded. "Believe me, I will."

 _I seem to see a teeny flaw in your reasoning, baby. You are my prisoner! You are going to serve me, not kill me! You had better get used to this!_

The amber eyes of the vampire drew closer, and Nalia felt the hypnotic power of the eyes starting to take control of her mind. A grey mist extended around her vision, until all she could see were those twin orbs of terrible allure.

 Her jaw dropped slightly, as her mind prickled. All she could feel was the prickling… and through the prickling, whispered… _obey… obey… obey… bow before me now… obey… obey…_

Every utterance of the world sent more prickles throughout her body, and Nalia felt strangely warm. A stupid smile crept onto her face, though she was unaware of it, and slowly, she bowed.

 No!

 Perhaps it was her training in magic that gave her the strength to resist, but suddenly she straightened. The mist evaporated, and the yellow glow dimmed somewhat. Nalia smiled weakly, "Well, looks like your hypnotism didn't work. Got any more party tricks to throw at me?"

 _Bitch!_

Nalia reeled at the anger, but remained standing upright. If the vampire could get so enraged over her resistance of the hypnosis, then obviously her victory was not assured. This gave Nalia hope, and again, fighting the pain she chanted a quick spell.

 Fire leapt from her fingers, striking the foul beast, who screamed for a moment and then incanted a dispelling magic that caused the spell to fade away. _Why will you not just give up? It is useless!_

Nalia nodded. "It may be, but if there is a chance to kill you, then I will take it."

 _You fool! You are too ready to give your lives for the 'greater good'… you do not understand anything!_

There was a note of panic creeping in amongst the seductive whispering of the vampire. Nalia frowned. Obviously her victory was _far _from completion… interesting. She tried to move her hands to cast another spell, but the pain was too much…

 And then she had a spark of inspiration.

 Silently, she called on Kathryn to heal her. Nothing happened. Desperately, she tried again, sending a plea of dire need to her friend who resided in the heavens. Again, nothing happened.

 _Your prayers will not work here, baby… not in my temple…_

Gritting her teeth, Nalia shouted her prayer out loud, "Kathryn! Heal me! Heal me, so that the music of my life may continue without perversion and corruption! Aid me, Goddess!"

 And a low rumble shook her teeth.

 Dimly glowing, a pink light surrounded Nalia, and she felt her bones re-knitting. At the same time, something struck the vampire, sending the creature flying through the air. Nalia knew she had bare seconds to act.

 Chanting a quick spell, she snapped the chains around her, and moved as fast as her tired legs would carry her, behind the pillar. Activating her contingencies with a series of complicated movements of fingers, she leapt out to face Velissa.

 Rolling colours lashed from her hands, striking the vampire, sizzling into her pale flesh. Following that, a massive lightning bolt sizzled through the air. Calling on one of her most powerful spells, Nalia unleashed a finger of death, which struck the vampire directly on the forehead.

 She screamed, but did not fall.

 Narrowing her eyes now, Nalia held out her hand, palm out and fingers spread wide. At the same time, with her free hand she reached into her robes and through out the precious dust of a ground rogue stone. A rapid succession of words later and the vampire who was almost upon her simply _stopped._

 Everything went silent.

 Nalia ran as fast as she could behind the vampire, and cast a shimmering improved alacrity spell. Feeling the magical power built up within her, Nalia uttered spell after spell. With the alacrity spell, words of arcane might tumbled with near-supersonic speed from her lips.

 Lightning flashed… ice pressed inwards… fire whipped and lashed… red green and yellow globes of energy span from her hand… they all built up around the vampire, who struggled to move against the time stop spell.

 Exhaustion rising within her, Nalia released more spells, flinging her spell components. Finally, she wilted, completely drained. She had no more spells in her memory, and no more components to cast them with… 

 Slowly but surely the time stop crumbled, until the vampire leaped at her.

 All the spells Nalia had cast struck Velissa.

 Her primal shriek of rage echoed through the temple.

 In the confusion of wildly flickering lights of so many colours, Nalia shielded her eyes. The shattering display of power lasted for about three minutes, and when it faded, all Nalia could see was smoke… she held her breath…

 She waited another two minutes, and then she started to smile in relief. The vampire had been killed… or not… Within the smoke, a dark shape could be seen, moving forward towards Nalia, limping and slow, but still moving.

 Nalia cursed. 

 Gleaming amber eyes fixed upon her. The vampire looked a wreck. Flames still smouldered on her dress, blood dripped from multiple lacerations, ice dragged at her hair, and lightning flickering along her arm. But she was not dead.

 _That… that was an education indeed, baby… I almost regret standing against you now, little one… such power… such… will… but know this… it has not availed you in the slightest… you will still die…_

Nalia punched the vampire as it wrapped cold arms around her waist. Velissa grunted, but smiled, and tenderly brushed her lips across Nalia, grinning. _Such a fighting spirit… why don't you close your eyes, child… it won't be so terrible then, the loss of your will and soul…_

The wet, warm tongue of Velissa touched Nalia's neck, and the wizard flinched. Fear was rising in her throat, and she struggled, but the vampire was holding Nalia's arms by her side, stopping her from moving with her vice-like grip.

 Agony!

 Fangs bit into Nalia's neck, and she moaned with fear as blood from her body started pumping through the mouth of the vampire. Nalia could feel every ounce of her strength fading with every passing second…

 The light in the temple faded, and Nalia could stand no longer, leaning in against the vampire, who supported her almost carefully, hands stroking and touching Nalia almost passionately, in a mockery of a lover's embrace.

 _Lovely, sweet Nalia… you taste like honey…_

Then the pain was gone, and the vampire shrieked with pain. Nalia fell to the hard stone floor heavily, and looked towards the doorway, where a flash of light had struck the vampire.

 Standing, with the pulsating Crom Faeyr, was Anomen. Behind him, stood Keldorn, with the crackling Carsomyr. Nalia chuckled weakly. They had come to save her… they had come to help…

 But a look at the vampire, who appeared to have replenished her strength by feasting on Nalia's blood, told her that her hope might be short-lived… 

  
 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen: Lord Delryn**

_Southern de'Arnise lands, 7 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 Without warning, the vampire jumped through the air, drawing two thin black dirks from her boots. Keldorn issued a quick prayer, and Nalia saw the magical protection from evil surround both he and Anomen.

 Carsomyr flashed through the air- there was a shiver of magic as the black blades turned the holy avenger aside. The vampire kicked out with her foot, but Keldorn narrowed his eyes and thrashed again with the powerful sword.

 The vampire moved back, wary of the sword.

 Anomen, meanwhile, was chanting prayers solemnly, his hammer by his side. Having finished the spell, he sent a blast of pure golden light from his hand, striking the vampire directly in the chest. She screamed.

 Keldorn swung again with his sword, moving as fast as Nalia remembered. He had killed dragons with those fast, finely honed swings… there was no trace of fear in his eyes, no trace of worry, only a grim determination to defeat the evil of the vampire.

 A loud prayer could be heard, coming from Anomen. Holding his hammer above his head, he summoned the magic of Helm, and daylight brimmed into the temple. The vampire hissed, and leapt away from the light, her skin sizzling and smoking. Vainly, she tried to attack again, but Keldorn swung his sword. It hit her directly in the side, and the magical energy bound within the sword lanced through the creature of evil.

 Velissa turned to face Nalia, _You cannot have these with you all the time, Nalia… I will come for you when you are weak, and you shall fall as easily as you would have fallen today!_

Swiftly, the vampire started to melt into mist. Keldorn called, "Anomen, stop her! Use a prayer or something! By Torm, stop her!"

 Anomen tried frantically to cast a prayer in time, but with a cruel, icy laugh echoing through the chamber, the dark mist-shape of the vampire soared through the passageways, escaping them.

 There was silence for a moment, then Nalia saw with weak eyes Anomen rushing forward to her. Kneeling beside her, he chanted a series of powerful healing spells on her, and Nalia felt her strength returning. Sighing, she stood her legs still slightly shaky. Anomen supported her with his armoured arm. "Nalia, that creature was powerful… I have not seen a vampire like her before…"

 Keldorn spoke, "And nor will you again, Anomen, or at least you had best hope not. I recognise her from the documents of my Order. She is one of the most ancient vampires, from a time when Amn was part of the Shoon Empire, ruled by an almighty lich… Nalia, you did well to resist her for as long as you did…"

 Nalia muttered, "Not well enough… I think she has killed Andrew and Cernick… or at least done something terrible to them. Quickly, come this way…"

 And, hobbling alongside Anomen, she guided them towards the distant altar- somehow, they had moved far away from it during the course of the battle. As they drew closer, Nalia could see Andrew chained to the marble, along with Cernick- both were unconcious. Above them, lying in a sacrificial position, was the young lady Nalia had been told was being tortured. 

 Anomen cursed, and said, "Keldorn, you support Nalia. I have to heal these people…"

 And so saying, he walked closer, snapping off the chains that bound Andrew and Cernick. He chanted multiple healing spells, and Nalia watched with relief as the priest of Chauntea and her Captain of the Guard gradually regained consciousness, their eyelids fluttering as if fighting against exhaustion.

 Without pausing, Anomen stood over the woman bound the altar. She was bleeding heavily, and her breath was coming in short, sharp bursts. Nalia didn't think she had long to live. But Anomen placed his hands on either side of her head, and turned his gaze upwards, imploring, "Helm, save her… Helm, bring your power upon her brow, and heal the wounds received in battling evil…"

 There were two childish laughs. "He's a silly billy, isn't he, brother?"

 From the shadows, the two children stepped. The boy smiled. "Yes he is, sister. He doesn't realise that healing will not work… she is going to die, sister…"

 The girl giggled, "Yes, and then she will become one of us…"

 Both glared at Nalia. "You scared off the mistress… the mistress of mistress will not be pleased… but it is not time for us to make them pay, is it, brother?"

 "No, sister, it is not."

 "Should we go, brother? The mistress will want us."

 "Yes, sister… let us go…"

 They laughed together, and then, just like the vampire, they melted into mist, and escaped through the tunnel. Keldorn stared after them, his face pale. "By the good gods, who could be evil enough to turn innocent children into vampires? Such evil… such debauchery!"

 Anomen bowed his head, and removed his hands from the woman's head. "It is no use then. If those creatures have done something like this to her, then there is no way I can help her. Damn them."

 Whispering, Nalia said, "Helm cannot help her… perhaps another god can."

 Keldorn's head snapped up. "Nalia, Anomen cannot just switch faiths like that, Kathryn may have been a friend of ours, but she will not risk Helm's wrath by stealing one of his most powerful faithful."  
 Nalia spoke faintly, "I wasn't talking about Anomen…"

 Frowning in puzzlement, Nalia took a step towards the altar, and lay her hands on the woman's stomach. Not fully knowing what to do next, Nalia fixed her eyes on the wounds before her. It had occurred to her, that if Kathryn could aid her escape, then she could aid this woman now.

 "Kathryn! Hear my cry, and bless me with your power! Hear me, hear me! Hear me! Your powers are needed in my lands; your music needs must thrill through my veins! My lady of All Song, I beg you, send me your power now!"

 She heard Anomen's intake of breath, and Nalia turned to look at the doorway, which was bathed in a light pink glow. Within the pink glow, stood Kathryn, looking as beautiful as she had done in real life, but even more so, if that was possible. Her white hair floated behind her as she walked, and her pink and purple dress shimmered with tiny stars of magic. Her bare feet touched the floor, and where they touched, gleaming multi-coloured light was created.

 Her milky-white arms moved slowly as she walked, walked with an ethereal grace and charm… walked with an innate feeling of _music. _Bright eyes of blue stared at them all with compassion and love, and she said, "Great things have been done here today… great things… the victory of music over pain, and the resurgence… of love…"  
 There was a choked sob, and Nalia turned to face Anomen, who was kneeling before Kathryn, tears coursing down his cheeks. The goddess move slowly towards the knight, and gently placed her hand on his forehead.

 "Anomen, my love… you hurt daily… your soul pangs for the touch of my lips upon yours, yet you try and hide me from yourself. So many times I tried to contact you in your sleep, but your heart kept closed, your love turned to stone… your music crushed and buried…"

 Anomen shook his head, "Never crushed, Kathryn, never!"

 The goddess shook her head slightly, and a single golden tear fell from her face to the floor. Where is struck, golden light started to dance, humming with harmonic vibrations that made Nalia's teeth itch with the power.

 "It is as good as crushed, Anomen… all I asked was for you to remain true to our love, and you haven't. Your soul has hardened of late, more so than it was…"

 The knight leapt to his feet in a fury. "You asked _me _to remain true to our love? Kathryn, you left me! You left me for mere power! You told me our love would last forever and look where it is now! Gone!"

 Kathryn shook her head, "No. Anomen… I did not leave your for power, I left you for love. I was given the chance to become a powerful force for good in the Realms, I was given a chance to help the people of all the nations fight against despair and evil, against corruption and terror…"  
 Anomen nodded, "So you left me behind, on this sorry rock, our love dashed and broken like ashes and dust!"

 Pink light flashed to red, and the goddess made a single gesture. With more golden tears making their slow way down her pale face, Kathryn watched as slowly a red flower formed out of thin air. Nalia frowned. A flower?

 The misty, humming voice of Kathryn murmured, and it sounded sad, filled with regret… and love. "My dearest… I remember that day, in the Graveyard… the sun was shining bright, on a new day, when all was seeming right and true, and from a collection of rough black briar, you pulled out this single flower… red, you said, to match our love and passion…" She paused, and still the tears continued to fall. "You see Anomen, I _kept _it… I kept it in the heavens, and in my stronghold, hundreds of them grow… hundreds, Anomen, so that all gods and their servants may know the strength of our love and commitment that stretches even beyond mortality."

 The knight gaped. "My love… I… I am sorry… my love, forgive me, forgive me please? I swear, I will not allow my love to be crushed ever again, ever… that I promise. Even if death's fell grip threatens, I will not turn from you, ever…"

 Kathryn sighed. "Anomen, our love will last an eternity, but even now I can see a path for you, even now I know that there will come a time when that promise will be broken. But know this Anomen, and herein is the strength of our love- I do not mind. When you die, your soul can exist forever within our love…"

 Anomen nodded, his own tears falling. "I love you, Kathryn."

 The goddess smiled. "I know, dearest…"

 There was a long silence, with the two looking straight into their eyes. Nalia waited for as long as she could, and then said, "Kathryn… there is a woman here who needs your healing…"

 Kathryn smiled. "I know, and she shall be one of my faithful because I heal her. In this way, from pain and torture, comes the music of a new beginning, beautiful in its infinite splendour…"

 And the goddess walked, energy floating around her, towards the black altar, and placed her shining hands on the woman's forehead, and called, "Loviatar! Begone from this woman, I send you reeling, Mistress of Pain and Torment! Begone, for it is my will that this woman is my servant, and it is my will that this temple will be mine! For the family of Velissa is mine, so the temple of Velissa shall be mine! Your servant is a relic, and ancient relic with no bearing on my servants, so begone! I cast you out, I bid you gone!"

 Above the altar, a massive dark shape appeared, forming into a woman's face. Nalia quailed, seeing the likeness of Loviatar before her. The dark goddess sneered, "I am not weak, Kathryn! You cannot drive me out! Feel the power of pain!"

 Blackness flashed around Kathryn.

 Nalia flinched at the immense power being unleashed. She watched with held breath as Kathryn was torn at by the blackness. But even when surrounded by the slicing power of pain itself, all Kathryn did was laugh.

 Loviatar shrieked, "Stop that, Harpist! Music is no match for pain!"

 Kathryn giggled, "Poor Loviatar, are you pissed off?"

 The Goddess of Pain and Torment narrowed her eyes, and then roared, "Bah! This is not over, Kathryn! This is _not _over!"

 And with that, the image of Loviatar faded away. 

 Kathryn, still giggling, unleashed her full power.

 Nalia was swept back by a great wind that sang with the thrumming notes of music. The black marble turned to pure white, with flecks of purple and gold, the bloodstains vanished, replaced by plants of red flowers that shimmered with glittering dust…

 Everything was different.

 Nalia faced the altar, and saw, instead of the nine-tailed whip of Loviatar, the golden harp of Kathryn, but this time, the golden harp was superseded by a brilliant red flower with sharp thorns.

 Finally stopping her giggling, Kathryn turned to face them, her voice grave. "My friends, a war is beginning. Amn will be bathed in the blood of good and evil alike. The music will fade against the cacophony of chaos and loss. Remain strong. Do not despair, for I will be with you, and my power shall move each of you along your own path of individual music. Stand firm, my friends… the true test of strength is yet to come."

   
   
 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen: A Staff**

_The de'Arnise keep, 9 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 Nalia stood in her vault, eyes fixed on the staff of pure illithium that lay on the oval table in front of her. Around the staff, were placed twelve gems of rare and precious value, every one of them enchanted with some of her most powerful spells- invisibility, energy protection, spell turning, spell shield, spell trap…

 Touching one of the gems, Nalia raised her eyes upwards, and murmured, "Kathryn, hear my prayer! With my magic the medium, your strength may flow within this purest of metals. The magic of the gems shall shine, and the glory of my House shall rise like a new dawn in Amn."

 Murmuring quickly, Nalia cast an ancient incantation that she had gleaned from the spell book found in the farmhouse attacked by the wraith, one that made it possible for multiple enchantments placed on a few items to be absorbed into a surface pure enough to retain magic- and illithium was the purest metal available.

 A thin beam of light worked its way from gem to gem, forming a delicate latticework of energy. Slowly, beams of multi-coloured light span from the gems, striking the staff, which quivered slightly.

 In the corner, Tomas played the harp, the music sweet and careful, the notes thrumming through the air, imbued with the highest power. Around him, pink light appeared, as the power of Kathryn made itself known. The pink light spread to the gems, and in turn to the illithium staff that shook wildly now.

 Nalia placed her finger on the surface of the staff, and instantly a flickering blue swan appeared, shifting blue. Another touch of her finger, and a golden harp could be seen, shining brightly. Yet another touch, and there was a bright flash, wherein pink blue and white melded together…

 And as the stave was gripped by this shifting spiral of colour, Nalia pulled out scroll after scroll, chanting the words of arcane magic over the staff itself. But instead of casting the spell, Nalia directed the energies into the gleaming staff, incanting key words that would release the spells as she did so.

 A golden flash.

 Nalia closed her eyes instinctively.

 When she opened them again, the gems were gone, and her staff was complete.

 The illithium had turned from its bright silver colour, to a gold, and on it Nalia could see hundreds of tiny blue swans in different actions- some flying, some eating, some swimming… the images of the swans moved around the staff.

 As well as the swans, Nalia saw an occasional golden harp melt into view, before melting back out again. With her mouth open in awe and reverence, Nalia placed her hand on the staff- and gasped.

 She could feel the power!

 Spells upon spells were contained within the metal, and she knew that the protections she had added to the weapon had already taken effect. She looked into the corner, and smiled at Tomas, who frowned.

 "I can't see you, Nalia."

 She grinned, and whispered the command word to dispel the invisibility around her. Tomas jumped, and then took a close look at her staff. He bowed his head. "You truly are a mistress of the Art, my lady… that is an impressive piece of magical equipment you hold…"

 Nalia nodded. "And it is symbolic too. It marks the change of the House de'Arnise from warriors to wizards… and it marks my friendship with the Lady Kathryn…"

 Tomas smiled, "Yes… but what will the Cowled Wizards say? As I recall, they have rules and regulations about the creation of magical weapons without their authority being given…"

 There was a slight whisper in the breeze, and Nalia turned round. Standing, shadow in front of her, was Algerias, cowled and robed. He whispered in his nasal voice, "Yes, there are extremely tight regulations. If my Order found out about her actions this day, she would be taken to Spellhold and incarcerated there."

 Another voice boomed. "And if _my _Order found out about your actions, there would be war between paladins and wizards until Amn was drenched in blood."

 Keldorn stepped in, fully armoured. In a rage, Nalia shouted, "By Kathryn and Mystra, will everyone walk in without permission? I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed! Such petty idiocy I would expect from this wizard, but not from you, Keldorn. What would you have done if I had killed you with a backlash of magical energies?"

 Algerias sighed. "In this case, lady, it was justified."

 The paladin nodded his face sad. "Yes, Nalia… I bring grave tidings."

 Nalia frowned. "What?"

 The paladin of Torm was silent for a long moment, before he murmured, "Athkatla is under siege, it appears. Goblins and kobolds from the nearby hills have attacked, and all the evils within the sewers have risen to bathe the City of Coin in swathes of blood… we have received calls for aid from the Council today."

 Nalia sighed. 

 Would she ever have a chance to just exist in peace?

 "Very well my friends... and Algerias. Ready the guards. It appears that I must act once again, but this time to save Athkatla itself…"


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen: Saviour**

_Outside Athkatla, 9 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 Athkatla was burning.

 Or at least significant parts of it were. 

 The City of Coin lay next to the coast, and the wide river that cut messily through the centre of the city transported the trade of neighbouring towns and villages to the trading centre of the Sword Coast. 

 Now, instead of goods and gold flowing along the waters, blood and black ash could be seen, mucking its way to the sea, where the pollution started to spread into the sea, with its crashing tides.

 Nalia looked at the goblins and occasional orc who surrounded the city, and was surprised to see only about seven thousand, which, while a lot, was not enough to cause this much terror in Athkatla. With a standing garrison of four thousand men, along with the guards of merchants and important houses, the City of Coin should have found it easy to fight off this threat.

 Screams cut through the day, and Nalia turned, seeing a massive roaring explosion. Algerias whispered in fear, "The Bridge District has been destroyed… by the gods, what sorcery was that?"

 Keldorn took a step forward. "The evil from the sewers is rising… all the exiled mages scared of your order are taking their revenge on the City… quite successfully, I think. With the Bridge District destroyed, there is no other way to get to the southern districts of Athkatla. The City is in effect, split into two…"

 The wizard cursed. "My brethren should have stopped this…"

 Nalia murmured, "Unless they are too busy protecting the Council… but that is not the major cause for speculation. I want to know where the rest of the garrison is…"

 Algerias sighed, "Gone. Lord Aberga took about two thousand legionaries and most of the merchant's guards south to deal with the threat of the ogre-magi and their Empire…"  
 Keldorn laughed bitterly, "The one time when the Council acts, and Athkatla is attacked. What cursed luck."

 Nalia narrowed her eyes. "Unless it is not down to luck. Someone wishes to keep the Council indecisive, and this attack at the heart of their power accomplishes that. Well, they obviously did not reckon on Nalia de'Arnise. I will be damned before I let this city fall to goblins!"

 She said to Algerias. "Transport us to the Council Building. It is time I did something about this mess."

* * * 

_Government District, 9 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 Nalia flashed into the Government District. Her yellow robes of the archmage glimmered, and on her shoulder could be seen a dark blue swan. On her finger, the signet ring of de'Arnise could be seen, gleaming with its power. Two rings rested on her other hand- a ring of acuity and a ring of wizardry.

 Around her waist was a weak-looking silver chain, studded with three sapphires. They pulsated very faintly, almost as if they were too weak to do anything else. But Nalia knew differently. They, along with her rings allowed her to hold more spells in her memory than she could without them. An amulet around her neck provided resistance to magic, and also made her immune to the bane of mages- a silence spell.

 Other small charms, bracelets and enchanted items could be seen, all serving a useful purpose, all making the wizard of the de'Arnise keep a potent force to be reckoned with. It had been too long since Nalia had worn all her items from her adventuring days, and now, their comforting weight and brimming power made her feel confident and self-assured.

 And the circlet on her head made her feel even more so. The Circlet of Netheril, shivering with immense power, rested on her brow. An artefact from the times when mages were equals to gods, this circlet had sparked terror in many enemies, who had fallen within moments to her spells.

 And along with the circlet, she now held her staff, whose power matched that of the circlet. The staff warmed to her grip- as it should do. She had made it, so there was a personal bond between the item and her blood. Much like the signet ring. If anyone tried to use the ring, they would find it impossible. If anyone tried to use her staff, they would find it impossible- unless they had de'Arnise blood within their veins, which she doubted anyone but her did.

 Marching through the marbled streets of the Government District, Nalia was struck at how quiet it was. A few legionaries stood in doorways, obviously protecting the ruling elite of Athkatla, but apart from them, few soldiers could be seen.

 But then, if they could be seen, then Athkatla had already fallen, for the Government District would be that last place to see battle, the last place to fall to the besieging forces- and the forces that attacked from within. So as she walked, Nalia offered thanks to all the good gods that Athkatla remained standing.

 She, Keldorn, Anomen and Algerias approached the Council Building, and immediately five legionaries, supported by five Cowled Wizards moved in front of them. One of the wizards stated calmly, "You cannot go within. The Council commands anyone offering aid to go straight to the walls, where they are needed, rather than wasting time in this building."

 Nalia moved her hand, and cast a simple time stop spell. Striding past the men blocking her way into the Council building, she pushed the door open, and walked into a room filled with chaos.

 Aides were rushing about frantically, carrying maps and orders to and fro. Nalia ignored them, and advanced instead towards the distance, where she could see five men and one woman wearing golden masks. The Council of Six.

 Nalia continued to walk, and as one the six council members turned. The man in the centre, a massive, burly man boomed, "Why have you come here, Lady de'Arnise? You are needed on the walls, not here with us!"

 Keldorn growled, "We have come to see why the Cowled Wizards have not done anything about the Bridge District being destroyed! They have power enough to stop the exile mages who return now, but instead they protect you here!"

 The female council member shouted, "They act how they wish to act, and how we command them, de'Arnise! Do not question our authority! For Athkatla to survive, it requires leadership."  
 Nalia reddened. "For Athkatla to survive, it requires magic and sword to drive the enemy from the walls and back into the sewers. Why is it that the Cowled Wizards hold back, when the legionaries under Lord Orhotek are fighting for their lives?"

 Another Council member, a tall man, murmured dispassionately. "The Cowled Wizards will aid the legionaries when we deem fit. The element of surprise cannot be lost, de'Arnise."

 Anomen shouted, "By Helm! Are you all cowards! The element of surprise is in the hands of the enemy! The city is falling, and you are here with your maps and scrolls! March out into the city with the wizards, and fight for the City! You are a member of the Council only because the people wish it! Fight for them, and prove you are worthy!"

 One of the Council members advanced slowly. "Lord Delryn, I will ignore that lapse of reason for the moment. If it occurs again, I will have you arrested!"

 Anomen narrowed his eyes. "You mean you could try. I have fought more evil than you would see in your lifetime! I have defeated hundreds, possibly thousands of enemies with my hammer, and you have the audacity to threaten me? By Helm, I could kill you all now, and all the warriors within this hall within minutes."

 Nalia placed a placating hand on Anomen's shoulder. "Peace, my lord. Let us leave, for now. It appears that we will have to aid the City without the aid of the wizards, or the Council."

 The woman laughed. "A retired paladin, a love-sick knight and a foolish whore against all the evils that besiege us? Why, a story worthy of a ballad, de'Arnise! Tell me, how are you going to defeat seven thousand goblins, let alone the scum coming from the sewers?"

 Nalia smiled. "With strength of will and strength of arm."

* * * 

_The Walls of Athkatla, 9 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 Algerias had remained behind in the Council Building with the rest of the Cowled Wizards, glaring at them scornfully and naming them fools for insulting the Council members and then threatening them.

 Nalia chanted a spell, moving her, Anomen and Keldorn to the walls. They stood staring at the mass of green beneath them for a few minutes, before Anomen said, "I will go to the Temple District. The remaining knights of the Order will be laying their defences there."  
 Keldorn nodded. "I will come with you also, Anomen. Nalia, it might be best if you teleport to the south, to offer your aid to the garrison there. We will protect this side of the City with ours lives."

 Nalia sighed, "Be careful, my friends."  
 With those words she incanted another teleport spell and re-appeared on a similar wall, miles to the south. She saw a youthful legionary gape at her, and bow his head. "Y- y- y- you are Lady Nalia, aren't you?"

 She said, "Yes, I am. Stand firm, soldier. I am here to help you win."

 Other legionaries, about three hundred in all, shouted loudly, "De'Arnise has come! De'Arnise stands with us! Victory shall be ours!"

 A volley of arrows sped towards the Athkatlan walls- thousands of flitting bees, whose touch would spell death. Nalia made a simple gestured, and a wall of pure fire leapt in front of the arrows, turning them all into harmless ash.

 Cries of rage could be heard from the goblin lines, and, as one, they started to charge, a massive tide of green sea churning towards them. Nalia turned to the youth, and said, "There are only three hundred on this wall?"

 He nodded, and Nalia issued a prayer to Tymora, praying for the luck that would surely be needed to fight off these goblins. They were three hundred against about a thousand… 

 "Tell the men to get to the towers. I will cover the walls, is that clear? Make it understood that any man on the walls will probably be killed within seconds… quickly, boy, we have little time available to us!"

 The goblins continued to rush forward.

 The order was passed along, and slowly, Nalia saw the legionaries obeying. You could say what you liked about the Council, but when they did muster troops, they made sure they were well-trained.

 Within a few minutes, the walls were empty, and the towers were packed with legionaries, who took advantage of the height to begin shooting arrows into the mass of goblins. Screams rose to clash around her ears, and Nalia had to force herself to ignore them before she could begin casting her spells.

 One spell and she was standing high above the city on a disc of pure blue energy. Another spell and six orbs struck the main wall. There was a massive rumbling, and the sky above darkened purple, and lines of ice started to fall just as the goblins gained the wall.

 Goblin after goblin was caught in the ice storm, until there we none left on the walls. But there were still hundreds left below it. Gesturing, Nalia sent fireball after fireball plunging into the masses of goblins, and slowly lowered herself down until she was hovering just above the solid mass of burning flame caused by her fireballs.

 Another gesture and a spell, and rain started to fall, until the flames sputtered and died. When the flames had cleared, all the guards could see that no goblins remained alive… Nalia smiled. Praise the gods for stupid goblins.

* * * 

 By the time sunset came, Nalia had travelled to all the walls of Athkatla, using ice storms, meteor strikes, lightning bolts, and death spells, almost anything she could think of to defeat the goblins. Her plan had been to remove the threat of goblins, so that the legionaries could begin to cleanse the city of the invaders from the sewers.

 Breathing heavily, and leaning on her staff, Nalia used her last teleport spell to move her into the Temple District, where she had been told Keldorn and Anomen were fighting. Well, where they _had _been fighting.

 The fighting had faded now, as the goblins had all been killed, and the evils had returned to the sewers, driven off by the Cowled Wizards, who had roused themselves when it appeared they could finally win.

 Nalia walked through the Temple District slowly, seeing a multitude of different creatures lying dead along the marble bridges of the district, their blood flowing into the peaceful water of the district.

 A strange peace had descended over everything, and slowly, the city-dwellers were returning to the streets, beginning to slow task of repairing the damage. Nalia sighed, knowing that tonight women would realise husbands had died, and that children would never be able to see parents…

 She saw Anomen in the distance, and walked over to him. He was crying, but not just slightly, but sobbing loudly, his face looking completely defeated. From the shadows, Keldorn walked, and he too was sobbing. Nalia paled, knowing something was terribly wrong.

 She asked, "Anomen?"

 The knight stared at her, his eyes bleak… "The Order… The Order… is dead…"


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen: Shattered Order**

_Temple__District-__ Athkatla, 9 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 The flaxen-haired Lady Irlana lay weeping beside the body of Sir Cadril, who lay, with a dagger thrust to the neck, dead before the temple. Irlana herself lay spattered with blood, from multiple stab wounds to her chest. She rasped out a faint prayer, and blue light appeared around her fingertips, as, selflessly she tried to heal Cadril to health. But her lay on hands could not raise the dead, and she dropped her hands uselessly over Cadril's chest, weeping still.

 It was this scene that Nalia, Anomen and Keldorn arrived. Immediately, Anomen walked towards Irlana, and chanted a brief healing spell. Her wounds started to close, but before they could, a dark light appeared in the centre of the major wound, preventing it from being healed.

 Nalia frowned. "It is a powerful magic, this…"

 Anomen tried again, but his spell was stopped just as easily. Tears worked their way down his cheeks once again, as he looked at Irlana, who tried at a half-hearted smile, "It- it is time Anomen… If Helm sees me worthy enough, perhaps I can rest within his arms this day…"

 Keldorn raised his sword in salute. "My Lady Irlana, I salute you."

 The woman smiled faintly, her eyes glistening with tears formed from pain and grief. She faced Anomen, and forced out the words, "I have failed the Order, sir knight… I _failed, _and because of me, all are dead. The Radiant Heart is no more, the sword of justice, duty and honour is no more… because of me…"

 Nalia knelt beside the woman, and tried one of the few spells she had left in her memory, a dispel magic. The green light flickered for a moment against the blackness in the wound, but then it faded. Irlana laid a comforting hand on Nalia's shoulder. "Do not waste any more time on me, Lady de'Arnise… do not waste magic… on one who is unworthy of… life."

 Anomen shook his head fiercely. "No! Irlana, you are worthy of life, you are the bravest paladin I have know! You give of yourself before others, and your heart is as golden as your hair!"

 Irlana chuckled, and blood left her mouth. "You… you are… as… as… chivalrous as… ever… my… my… lord…"

 Nalia could see her fading, could see the life within her eyes fading away. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. She placed her hand on the paladin's cheek, and asked, "Who did this, Irlana?"

 The paladin coughed, "Terror… terror… lady… we thought they… thought they… wanted… wanted… shelter…"

 Keldorn spoke, "Who wanted shelter?"

 Irlana coughed again, and when she spoke, her voice faltered. "The children! Two… two… children… so innocent… so scared and… fearful of battle… we let them… let them into… Helm forgive me!" Her voice turned into a scream. "We let them into the Order, we thought they wanted shelter! Oh, Helm, by senses failed me, I was dull to their evil! I was the blade that allowed the force of our destruction to pass! I… I…"

 A harsh cough, and a lot of blood escaped her lips. Her eyes, constricted in pain, drifted for a moment, before they stared at Nalia. "Lady… we… we… only realised… only realised… evil… when… when…other... other…"

 A shiver ran down Nalia's spine.

 Another cough, and this time, when Irlana tried to speak, the blood muffled her sound. She coughed again, and Anomen lifted her upwards, his arms clasping her in a warm embrace. His voice breaking into sadness, he spoke, "Helm embrace thee as I have done, Irlana… may his watchful eye see all that you have done in life, and may the beacon of your glory shine to all Helm's faithful… you have done well, Lady Knight."

 A half-hearted smile appeared on Irlana's face, and she forced through the blood clogging her mouth, "Thank…"

 A last, long cough that seemed filled with pain, and then her eyes rolled back in her forehead, and she fell limp against Anomen's chest. He raised his head to the air, and roared, "Helm, take her soul to safety!"

 Behind Nalia, Keldorn started to cry.

* * * 

 It was a slaughterhouse.

 They passed the bodies of apprentice knights, most boys hardly more than ten, who had died nevertheless with blessings of the gods on their lips, and swords and shields wielded against the evil. 

 By the appearance on their faces, they had died in absolute pain. Most now had their tongues torn out, and pinned over the sigils of their respective gods, or tied to gauntlets in a crude mockery of a lady's favour.

 The elderly veterans of the Order had lasted slightly longer, but they to had died, and their arms had been chopped off and sewn with horrendous viciousness to the sides of their skulls. Nalia choked, and had to force bile back into her stomach where it belonged.

 With every step they took, Anomen was murmuring prayers to Helm, and Keldorn was murmuring prayers to Torm. Nalia recognised the handiwork within this hall. It reminded her of the tunnels beneath her lands… the tunnels where she had faced the vampire, Velissa.

 Which explained the children.

 Nalia could imagine how easily the paladins in this place had fallen for the story of innocence. Their senses to detect evil would have failed as well, as they would have assumed it was caused by the evil clashing throughout the city.

 A loud shout cut through their musings, as someone was shouting, "Helm, deliver me from this pain! Help me, Helm! Hear my prayer!"

 Nalia's head whipped towards Anomen and Keldorn, and in unison, they breathed, "Survivor…"

 As one, they burst into the main room of the Hall, and barely paused at the bodies scattered everywhere, and bodies bound to the statues of the paladins' gods… and the bodies lying face down in holy fonts… and the bodies nailed to torture wheels, and the bodies half-burned… and the bodies flayed alive… and the bodies stripped into tiny pieces of flesh… and…

 So many bodies.

 But one still moved, one surrounded by black wires of power, lashing and moving within his skin. Prelate Wessallen. Nalia tried to chant a dispel magic, but it did not dispel the wires. She heard Anomen chant his own, but he paled. "My… my prayers do not work within this place!"

 Keldorn said sharply, "What?"

 The knight whispered, "My prayers do not function…"

 Nalia narrowed her eyes. "Someone is meddling with powerful forces…"

 _My little, pretty child… of course someone is meddling here. It would be me… remember?_

Of course Nalia remembered. It would take her years to forget that whispering voice echoing throughout her mind. A dark mist gathered in front of them, and the vampire… Velissa… stood before them.

 Keldorn swung Carsomyr, but it passed harmlessly through the vampire. Nalia sighed, "Illusion."

 Anomen said, "This is her handiwork, then… all this slaughter… and torture…"

 _Of course, my friends… it is my handiwork… your precious little Order will die now, its paladins scattered, with no clear leadership… your Prelate a slave to the coursing power of pain. If I could not corrupt the Lady de'Arnise, at least I could corrupt the leader of paladins…_

Nalia paled.   
 The vampire smiled. _Goodbye, Nalia. I will see you again._

The illusion failed.

 Anomen knelt beside the Prelate, who held out a hand. "Anomen… Anomen… I can feel the corruption spreading through me… by… by… by Helm, I can feel my faith mutating! I… I grow to enjoy this pain… I am starting to crave it…"

 Nalia shook her head in disbelief. This was horrible… she wanted to wake up and have it all be a dream. How could the Prelate be corrupted by one vampire, however powerful? 

 Keldorn knelt beside the paladin as well.

 "Keldorn… you… you… have to help me! Dispel this… this… this… _vile _thing… I need release, but I now not how! Helm is not answering my call! He ignores my cries, just as the mistress said he would."

 Anomen's voice became sharp. "What did you say?"

 The prelate cried with absolute despair. "I cannot help it! Gods, I hate it! Her power… it is… it is a terrible thing, Anomen! I have lost my will! She took my faith from my soul, and turned it into something evil, something broken…"

 Nalia felt nauseated. To see a man who had been so pure, so holy, transformed into something so hopeless and pitiful shocked her to the core. Before her eyes, the face of the Prelate changed, and he gasped, "Oh, Loviatar! More! More! Give me _more!_"

 Keldorn slapped his face. "Prelate, you will not desert Helm this day!"

 His face changed back, and his spirit seemed broken. "Anomen… you… you must leader what remains of the Order. Your faith and power will guide us through this terror. Helm requires it of you, my son… Helm _needs _you. Here, I give you my official… official… no! Loviatar, I will not come to you! Anomen… take my hand… quickly… before I lose everything so completely…"

 Anomen took his hand, face pale with sickness. "Prelate…"

 Wessallen spoke quietly, "Helm… Helm… acknowledge… this… I, Wessallen, Knight and Paladin of Helm, Prelate of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart, pass on my duty to Anomen Delryn, Knight of Helm, now Prelate… Prelate until your will calls him to your embrace." The Prelate paused. "Now, Anomen… I need… I need you to kill me! Before I turn completely to _her _I need you to kill me!"  
 Keldorn stood. "I will do this, Lord. I pray that Helm guides thee to his realm."

 And with that, Keldorn swung with Carsomyr. Hope flared within the eyes of Wessallen, and Nalia breathed with relief. At least he would die in the grace of Helm, not-

 Her thoughts stopped, as horror flared through her.

 The last words on the lips of the Prelate were not prayers to Helm, but a last, agonised wail of: "_Loviatar!"_


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty: Helm**

_The Heavens, 9 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 "No! Loviatar! How dare you do this to me?"

 Helm's rage scorched through the universe, and in a rage, he lashed out with his sword, striking out at a pillar in his realm. It absorbed the strike, as it was intended to do. Still in a rage, he struck out again- again- again!

 "Is something perturbing you, Lord Helm?"

 The low chuckle of Loviatar, who appeared in front of Helm, served only to enrage the God of Guardians, who slashed at the Goddess of Pain with his sword. The nine-tailed whip favoured by the goddess intercepted the sword, and Helm shrieked with pain and rage mingled.

 "Of course something troubles me, Loviatar! You corrupted my follower with a spell of yours, making him turn from me, even though that was not what he wished! He wanted to be my follower, he lived his life as my follower, and with a dirty trick you take him from me!"

 Loviatar sighed, her black locks floating in the air as she said, "He would not have given up your faith unless he was unhappy. It might have had something to do with the fact that you allowed his entire Order to be killed and scattered, and with the fact that his prayers went unheard."

 Helm lashed out again, and this time the lashes of Loviatar's whip snapped. "Do not taunt me, Loviatar! I am of higher power than you, and should I wish it, I could kill you! It would be my due for the pain you have caused me!"  
 She made a flippant gesture. "That's funny that. Being the Goddess of Pain, you wouldn't really think that I would cause pain, would you? Be realistic, Helm. I live only to cause pain. I am proud of my little Velissa. She is proving quite the arch nemesis for de'Arnise and your Anomen."

 The God of Guardians roared, "You will not take him as well!"

 Loviatar smiled. "You may not even have to lose Wessallen…"

 Helm narrowed his eyes. "What are you proposing?"

 The mistress of pain pretended to consider. "Well, if you agreed to let Amn fall into chaos, I would give Wessallen to you… his soul craves for your embrace… he prays for you even while suffering in my realm. Such a depressing story… it makes me feel so delightful… what do you say, Helm? Will you order your followers to withdraw from Amn, so that you may gain the loyal soul again? Or will he languish in eternal torment?"

 Helm bowed his head, and then stood to his full height. "I will not desert Amn in its hour of need, Loviatar! Nothing could make me do that! Instead of removing me from this battle, you have only enraged me! Know now, that my efforts will go directly towards defeating you and all your worshippers! Let it be know that we are at war!"

 And screaming, Loviatar was kicked again and again by the God of Guardians, who stabbed into her with his sword. Her blood falling onto the floor, she was forced to flee from the god, smarting at how easily her offer was turned aside.

 As Helm settled into his throne, he heard the screams of Wessallen echo throughout his mind. A gift from Loviatar- and another burden for him to bear. A single tear fell from Helm's eye, and he did not bother to wipe it from his face.

* * * 

 And all the servants of Helm in Amn felt his anger, but also his sorrow, and as Helm shed a tear, all his servants cried. They cried for Wessallen, but also for the bloodshed and further heartache that they knew would come.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Chapter Twenty One: Questions**

_Mithrest Inn, 9 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 "Why, Keldorn? How can she have this power over souls and minds? Who can block the power of the gods themselves?"

 The paladin stared into the crackling flames in the heart for a long time, before saying, "She is no ordinary enemy, Nalia…"  
 Nalia said, "You know things about her that you are not telling me. Speak, Keldorn! I allowed you your silence two days ago, but now I require your speech! I need to know who and _what _she is."

 Keldorn looked at her, his eyes sorrowful. "She is the first vampire of Amn, servant of the ancient lich who ruled this nation when it was the Great Shoon Empire. She has served Loviatar for almost as long. Just as Tomas has an exclusive relationship with Kathryn, so too does Velissa. She has been practising her depraved faith for centuries, until her power is… incredible."

 "You have told me this before, Keldorn. Tell me something new."

 The paladin sighed. "Her full name is Velissa…" He paused. "Do not make me say it, my lady, please!"

 Nalia growled, "Speak, Keldorn!"  
 Keldorn nodded. "I suppose you have to know eventually. Her name is Velissa daen'Arvisa… she was first of your line, Nalia… and it is her blood that flows in your veins today…"

 "What?"

 The paladin sighed. "Nalia, Velissa, who was born about one thousand two hundred years ago, in her mortal years, married the mercenary Martyn daen'Arvisa, and had a son named Garald. Over the years, the family name has mutated, but it is written within the Order that Velissa was the first of the daen'Arvisa, and was certainly the one who was responsible for gaining your family their land…"

 Nalia swallowed heavily. "How… how favoured was she of this… lich?"

 Keldorn said, "Very. She was his concubine during her mortal years, and when she was turned to vampirism, he only respected her more, making her his lieutenant. It was she who dealt with any priests of good faiths, and she did this firstly with her arts at seduction- it was said she could turn anyone away from their god, given enough time… and that was when priest's wills were much stronger. It was also said that she bore within her blood the power to block the power of the gods, should she wish it. An extremely rare gift, possibly rarer than spellfire… it makes her a potent enemy… potent indeed. I shudder to think that we are now up against her might as well as all the other evils in Amn. I suppose we must be thankful that the lich has not risen again to plague us, or we would really be in for terrifying times."

 She swallowed. She was related to that… that _thing? _

 "Keldorn… if she could block the power of the gods so easily, why did she not stop Anomen's prayers in her temple?"

 The paladin shrugged. "My guess is that it requires a ritual of great length, and one that exhausts her power quite spectacularly. That is why, I think, she did not come to us with her physical form, for she was drained by the ritual."

 Nalia swallowed again. "And… the children?"

 Keldorn said simply. "Vampires turned by Velissa are no ordinary vampires… they are possessed of a strong cunning and great power that charm… but I still do not understand how they tore the Order apart so easily… even if they were caught by surprise. The veterans, although old, outnumbered them about fifty-to-one."

 Anomen, who had remained silent- staring into the fire, asked, "And corrupting the Prelate? Why did she do that?"

 Keldorn said, "To prove that she could? To show us that we are weak and she is strong? Out of spite? To completely demoralise the Order? Who knows why evil acts as evil does…? What is important is that we find a way to gather the survivors of the Order together, under your leadership Anomen. Perhaps then we can undo the horrors this vampire has unleashed upon us."

 Nalia sighed. "I am still intrigued as to how these two vampires; however powerful they were could kill so many knights… Keldorn, could there have been other evils within the hall?"

 The paladin shrugged. "Possibly. I am not a diviner, and I do not think there are any within Amn… if there are, they have probably been killed. Velissa is not known to be sympathetic towards diviners. Something about a childhood trauma…"

 Anomen said. "There is always a reason why evil takes root. Helm only knows what terrors she must have experienced to turn so depraved. It almost makes me pity her… almost…"

 Keldorn nodded. "Aye. Almost… it is her fault we have suffered so much hurt today… but, as they say, there will be a dawn tomorrow, and perhaps everything will work itself out for the best."

 Nalia said, "Nothing works itself out. Everything requires me to sort it out. The Council waits for me to save them, The Cowled Wizards wait for me to defeat the main body of enemies… Velissa waits for me to commit myself before moving against the Order… all this… all this rests on my shoulders. If I step but once wrongly, then all of this nation will crumble into ash and ruin."

 The sturdy arm of Anomen hugged her shoulder tightly. "Not you alone, Nalia. I am here, as is Keldorn. Imoen too… the companions will aid you in your task. We will not allow evil to conquer us easily. We will fight."

 Whereas once, Anomen's words might have conjured a feeling of hope, Nalia only felt depression. She doubted that even the dawn tomorrow would stay this feeling of hopelessness and fear…

 While they talked, the fire crackled on.

* * * 

  _The Council of Six, 10 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 "I wish to know why. Why did you leave it too late? Why did you allow the Order to be crushed? Why did you not use your power to help the city? Why did you not order the Cowled Wizards against the evil?"

 Her voice cut through the words of the Council member, who was greeting the people for the new day. The council member, in his golden mask, turned to face Nalia, and said, "Such disrespect… I have warned you about this, de'Arnise. Guards! I command you to arrest this woman!"  
 Nalia rolled her eyes. Fire flashed in both hands, flickering blue. She turned to face the legionaries. "Who amongst you will be the first to die?" The guards backed off, weapons lowered. Nalia smiled, "I thought not."

 Her voice rose louder. "I warned you also, Council Member. Try to arrest me, and I will not go quietly! Indeed, I will not go at all. And we will see who has the greater power, the cowled bastards, or the archmage de'Arnise… and my money is on de'Arnise… who happens to be me. Now, all I want, _honoured _Council Member, is an explanation! _Why did you not act?_"

 There were whispers of awe. Never before had anyone come close to challenging the Council, yet here was one woman standing alone before the Council and its wizards, who waited with their own fires crackling at their fingertips.

 Tension was thick, until the Council Member made an annoyed gesture. "I will forgive you your impudence, de'Arnise, and shrug it off… obviously you are upset about the events in the Hall of the Most Radiant Heart yesterday… it touched all of our souls… such evil should not exist in the world."

 Nalia took a step forward. She did not command the fires to die out. "Such evil would not have come to pass had you acted sooner!"

 A Cowled Wizard stated calmly, "What has happened is fate! The Order has been destroyed, and it is a sign of the gods' displeasure?"

 Lady de'Arnise turned. "The day the gods that matter frown with displeasure upon the Order will be the day after the same gods smile upon you bastards. Stow your talk; I did not come here to exchange word with apprentices. I came to talk to the Council…"

 The wizard took a step forward, until he stood directly in front of Nalia. "I am the leader of the Cowled Wizards, de'Arnise, and you will afford me more respect!"

 Nalia raised an eyebrow. "You are the leader of the Cowled Wizards?" She laughed, loud and long. "Forgive me, but I did not think idiots rose to such ranks of power within such an 'esteemed' order. Bah! I did not come here to exchange words with the likes of you! I came to inform the Council that they must act to preserve Amn, and if they do not, then I will!"

 The Council Member nodded. "I see your point, Nalia. Well… it appears we must act, for the good of Amn. I thank you on behalf of the Council of Six, de'Arnise. Here," he said, using a heavy golden quill to write on a piece of parchment. "Here is a signed order, giving you sole command over the garrisons of Eshpurta, Esmeltaran and Murann. You are ordered, Nalia de'Arnise to march against the forces of the Sythissilian Empire, who are even now marching on the town of Imnescar. May the gods go with you, lady."

 Nalia bowed.

 Within a matter of seconds, she had been firmly defeated.

 This order was a polite way of sending her to die. 


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

Twenty Two: Trial of a Soul 

_The Courthouse, 12 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 The gods had, at Kathryn's behest, used their power to create a place in the heavens, which could be used to hold every single deity of the Realms, along with witnesses and a jury… A great fortress of energy, filled with the unified power of the gods now floated through Realmspace, and slowly, the gods gathered.

 Already there was Loviatar, the Mistress of Pain, standing on one side of the fortress, and Helm God of Guardians on the other. Kathryn stood beside Helm, her interest seemingly fixed on the harp she held in her hands. 

 In the centre of the fortress, stood Tyr, God of Justice, who took turns to stare at every new arrival into the godly courthouse. Lady Mystra entered, shortly followed by Kelemvor, with his silver mask. They stood a little away from Loviatar, Helm and Kathryn, and waited for the trial to start.

 More gods arrived.

 Umberlee, hand in hand with Talos…

 Chauntea, deep in a discussion with Silvanus…

 Cyric strode in alone, brimming with power and foreboding. The Lord of Strife walked towards Loviatar, and stood beside her. Kathryn frowned. So it would be Cyric defending the Mistress of Pain, and Kathryn prosecuting… how fitting.

 They waited until every god was present- the glittering assemblage of gods decked in all their great finery, and shining with individual power. All was silent, until Tyr boomed, 'Let justice be done this day, in the name of Ao… I call the jury forth.'

 Twelve copies of Tyr appeared in the jury, all exactly the same. The God of Justice shouted, 'Know that I will be fair and just, for to go against justice would be to destroy my own existence… let the trial proceed. Kathryn, Goddess of Song and Harps, call forth your first witness…'

 Kathryn walked forward, and said, 'I call Kelemvor, God of the Dead.'

 The silver-masked god strode forward, and stood in the space reserved for the witness. Kathryn bowed respectfully, 'It is nice to see you again, Lord Death. Please, be seated, I would not want you to feel uncomfortable in the presence of almighty justice.'

 Cyric said, 'Objection. This has no relevance to the trial.'

 Rolling her eyes, Kathryn said, 'I am merely letting the witness settle.'

 Tyr said, 'Continue, Kathryn, with the substance of your interrogation.'

 The Goddess of Song smiled at Tyr, and bowed. 'Of course. Now, Kelemvor. I understand that when a soul enters your realm, it is brought before you and judged. While it is judged, you see through its eyes, and you see every action that defined the life of that soul. Is this true?'

 Kelemvor said, 'Yes.'

 Kathryn nodded, 'And is it also true, that the soul of Wessallen, Prelate of Helm, was brought before you three days ago, for you to judge?'

 Kelemvor said, 'Yes. It is difficult, which is one of the reasons why this trial is taking place. At the end, I had to obey the letter of the law, and send him to Loviatar, the Goddess that he called upon at the end of his life, and again on the Fugue Plain.'

 She paused for a moment, before asking, 'Is it true that this Wessallen lived fifty-four years, and that each one of those years was spent under the protection of Helm? Is it true that he risked his life countless times to eradicate the enemies of Helm from the Realms? Is it true that as Prelate of the Most Radiant Heart, he could be said to be the most committed of Helm's servants?'

 The God of the Dead said, 'Yes. All that is true. I saw it.'

 Kathryn nodded. 'Good. So do you not find it utterly ridiculous, and a violation to the laws of faith in the universe, that because of one enchantment placed upon this soul, he is kept forever from the God he truly serves?'

 Again, the God of the Dead answered, 'Yes. It is indeed a violation most grave.'

 Kathryn smiled. 'No more questions, Lord Justice.'

 And she sat down, her will forging a seat of pink, which she settled in, amusing herself by playing with locks of her white hair. As she played, Cyric stood, and walked towards Kelemvor, his eyes burning with hate, 'Kelemvor… what is the law that governs where dead souls go?'

 The God of the Dead sighed. 'The law states that the god the dying soul called upon is the god he will serve for eternity. It also states that the opportunity exists for the soul to change its allegiance while on the Fugue Plain, though it is extremely rare.'

 Cyric smiled, a feral smile. 'No more questions.'

 He sat, and gestured for Kathryn to proceed. She stood, and called, 'Helm, God of Guardians.'

 The god walked proudly towards the witness area, and waited for Kathryn to walk towards him. The Goddess said, 'Lord Helm, you know the heart and soul of your Prelate intimately. He was born to two paladins who served you, and has fought in your name for years. You had a direct hand in naming him your Prelate… why?'

 Helm said, 'Because his loyalty to me was strong, stronger than tempered steel, and in the new ages of terror that plague this land, such loyalty was important to me. Also, his actions and mind followed strictly my rules and teachings.'

 Kathryn nodded. 'So you find it surprising that your Prelate now lies in agony in the realm of Loviatar, bound to her by a cruel enchantment that only exists because of manipulation and trickery?'

 Helm nodded. 'Yes. Had her agent not blocked my power, he would not have doubted, and would still be in my embrace this day. What she did violates the sanctity of worship and faith, which is a law that makes up the fabric of the universe. Lord Ao told us that without our worshippers, we are nothing, and so the guiding hand of the universe has spoken. For other gods to bewitch other god's followers on the brink of death is a grave violation.'

 The Goddess of Song nodded. 'Thank you, Lord Helm.'

 Cyric stood, the air flaming around him. 'Lord Helm, you say that to steal worshippers is evil and wrong, a violation against Lord Ao himself. Well, your followers, and by default, you yourself, are guilty of this crime. When you killed my followers during the attack on Athkatla, many of them repented from my ways, and now walk in your halls. Surely your follower can be turned the opposite way?'

 Helm nodded. 'Yes. But it is the choice of evil to turn to good, just as it is the choice of good to turn to evil. This is not the question, Cyric. What is the question, is that if we bind the souls of our worshippers against their will, then how can we take value from prayers, if we remove the free will that makes mortals so important. And we have no right to take away to free will of the human race- another law laid down by Lord Ao.'

 The God of Madness growled. 'Indeed.'

 Kathryn watched as Cyric sat, and then stood. 'I call Loviatar, Mistress of Pain.'

 Smiling confidently, Loviatar moved into the witness area, and waited arrogantly for Kathryn to begin her cross-examination. 

 'Lady Loviatar… would you care to explain to us all what you did to Prelate Wessallen in the Hall of the Most Radiant Heart?'

 'No.'

 'I beg your pardon?'

 'I said, no. What I did is common knowledge… everything except for the prayer itself, which I would not share with anyone. So, Lady Kathryn, that answer is no, I will not tell you what my power did to him, other than binding him to my service.

 'Against his will?'

 'Despite his will.'

 'Is there a difference?'

 'Not one that matters.'

 'Indeed. How long did he resist your magic?'

 'Quite long. His will was impressive, but eventually he saw sense and turned to my painful servitude, the painful servitude which he learned to love so passionately.'

 'So you did work against his will?'

 'No, despite his will.'

 'You have said that before, Lady Loviatar.'

 'You have asked that question before, Lady Kathryn.'

 'Indeed I have. Tell me, if Helm turned one of your clerics from your power through trickery and deceit, how would you feel?'

 'I would inflict utter pain upon that soul, for falling so easily to goodness.'

 'So it would pain you.'

 'I did not say that.'

 'But if you would take vengeance, then it implies that a wrong has been done, and that it hurts your soul.'

 'That is supposition.'

 'Supposition based on fact.'

 'False fact created by needless supposition.'

 'If you say so. Now, Loviatar… tell us what Wessallen is doing in your realm…'

 'Suffering.'

 'Really… how nice for him. What are your other servants doing?'

 'What they wish, as long as it causes pain.'

 'Ah… so based on the laws of your realm, Wessallen could do what he wished, as long as it hurts someone?'

 'Yes.'

 'Thank you, Loviatar.'

 Cyric stood, and looked at Kathryn for a time, wondering what she had gained from her examination of Loviatar. Finally, he turned to the Goddess of Pain, and said, 'Lady Pain, when Wessallen died, did he feel any real conviction?'

 'Yes.'

 'Would you care to elaborate?'

 'Certainly. As he died, the Prelate was fighting against my power, the pain coursing through him. He wanted to turn back to Helm, but then, just as he was about to die, he realised how right my tenets were, he realised how beautiful pain is… and wanted above all else to have the power over others that I had over him.'

 'Hardly the honour-bound paladin of Helm we have heard so much about, is he?'

 'No, he is a weak-willed fool who gave in easily to my power, finally understanding its higher position over the folly of Helm's guardianship, which I might had, has failed so many times. The Tablets of Fate… guarding Mystra's prison… so many failures for the poor little god of guardians…'

 Tyr shouted, 'This trial is not a bantering forum, lady. Kindly close your mouth, and speak only what has relevance to this trial.'

 Loviatar nodded. 'Very well, Lord Justice.'

 Cyric said, 'Lady Pain, would you class the Prelate as a valued worshipper?'

 'Certainly. He is a symbol of my victory over Helm.'

 'So you would class him as a true worshipper, turned to you by his own commitment to pain?' 

 'Yes.'

 'No further questions.'

 There was a long silence, and then Kathryn said, 'I wish to call former Prelate, Wessallen of Helm…'

 Loviatar smiled. 'Wessallen of Loviatar.'

 Helm roared, 'That is being decided as we speak, Loviatar, do not profane the name of my cleric with your slander.'

 Tyr slammed his hammer on the table, and then said, 'Silence. The witness comes before us…'

 Wessallen appeared in the midst of the gods, facing Helm. He saw the god, and fell to his knees. 'Helm… my lord Helm, forgive me, please… I… I could not fight her power… even in death I could not resist, and had to call upon her… lord, forgive me…'

 Helm said, 'Whether I am allowed to or not is being decided at this moment, my son. Have courage. I am doing all I can to free you from pain.'

 Loviatar shrieked with laughter. 'He will not succeed, my toy. You will spend eternity within my domain, feeling the cursed lash of my whip…'

 Kathryn stood, 'I wish to being my examination, Lord Justice.'

 Tyr nodded. 'Very well.'

 Kathryn walked towards Wessallen, and smiled. 'Greetings, Prelate.'

 'Lady Song.'

 She smiled. 'You know me?'

 The paladin nodded. 'Of course. Anomen fought for you during the War of the Five. His courage and light only exist now because of your encouragement. As I recall, it is because of your influence that he was judged worthy of Helm's service.'

 Kathryn giggled, 'You are too kind, Prelate. However, this has little relevance to the facts of your conflicting servitude. You are Wessallen, former Prelate of Helm, leader of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart?'

 'I am.'

 'During your life, Wessallen, you fought for Helm, did you not?'

 'Yes. I also served Torm and Tyr, although Helm was the source of my prayers.'

 'And when you killed, whose name did you invoke in blessing?'

 'Helm's.'

 'Whose name did you invoke as you slept?'

 'Helm's.'

 'Whose name did you protect as Prelate?'

 'Helm's.'

 'What god do you owe loyalty to?'

 'H… H… Helm.'

 'You found that difficult to say?'

 'Very. Her power still lies heavily on my soul.'

 'Just to clarify, whose power?'

 'Loviatar's, Mistress of Pain.'

 'Interesting. Tell me, Wessallen, did you, at any point in your life before your death, call on Loviatar for anything?'

 'No.'

 'Did you ever let a single one of her servants escape your sword if you found them.'

 'As far as I could, no.'

 'Did you ever find yourself enjoying pain?'

 'No, though I often sent an offering to Ilmater, an offering of thanks for his painbearing that serves humanity well.'

 'So if you had to choose one of the gods of pain as a master, who would you choose?'

 'I could not. Helm is my master.'

 'Yet you called for Loviatar?'

 'Yes.'

 'Why?'

 'I… I do not fully understand. But I arrived in the Fugue Plain, and I knew I should serve Helm, but a voice whispered in my mind… telling me that I should call on Loviatar. I tried to resist, but the words tumbled from my mouth.'

 'Wessallen, you are saying there was no _belief _in Loviatar's mastery, only a forced prayer?'

 'Yes.'

 'So if you were placed on the Fugue Plain again, whose name would you call?'

 'Helm's, without a doubt.'

 'And if Helm was forbidden to answer your prayer, would you then call on Loviatar?'

 'No.'

 'Who would you call on?'

 'I would rather exist as one of the Faithless, than worship Loviatar.'

 Kathryn smiled. 'Thank you, Prelate. My Lord Cyric? Any questions?'

 'None.'

 There was a long silence, and then Tyr stood. 'Cyric, if you would like to put your case before us, summing up what you feel should be done?'

 'Certainly, Lord Justice. Gods of Realmspace, there should be no other verdict today, other than the verdict that this petty soul should be sent to Loviatar. The law of death states clearly, as our lord Kelemvor told us, that the god the soul calls on is the god that soul serves for eternity. Prelate Wessallen called on Loviatar, not Helm. He should serve Loviatar, not Helm. Furthermore, Loviatar values this man as her worshipper, which implies he bears some belief in her powder, and there must, as Kathryn no doubt will say, be some belief for a prayer to constitute a prayer. Prelate Wessallen prayed to Loviatar. That fact was admitted from his own lips. That prayer was backed up by belief, we have heard that from Loviatar. From Kelemvor, we have heard the law of death, which none of us can disobey. Therefore, the verdict is clear. Wessallen belongs to Loviatar.'

 There was another long silence, and then Kathryn stood. 'Cyric is absolutely right. Wessallen prayed to Loviatar with belief, just as he prayed to Helm with belief. All that Cyric has said is true, which is surprising for the Prince of Lies. Yes, my fellow gods, Wessallen does belong in Loviatar's realm. I do not dispute that any longer, though the way in which she claimed his soul is surely suspect. However, I now seize on something that Loviatar herself said in answer to one of my questions.'

 Kathryn clicked her fingers_, _and the sound of her voice spilled across the room.

_ 'Ah… so based on the laws of your realm, Wessallen could do what he wished, as long as it hurts someone?'_

_ 'Yes.'_

 'And therein, peers, lies the reason why Wessallen has the right to choose his realm. Loviatar stated that it is a _law _in her realm that her people be allowed to do what they will, as long as it causes pain. Well, Wessallen has the right to choose Helm as his god, and the pain he will cause will harm Loviatar. What better person to hurt, than the Goddess of Pain herself? _That _is why Wessalen belongs with Helm. The law of death has been obeyed, Wessallen lies with Loviatar. Now the law of Loviatar herself will be obeyed, which allows Wessallen to return to Helm.'

 The shriek of Loviatar's rage echoed throughout the heavens.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Chapter Twenty Three: Waterdeep**

_Dock Ward, 12 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 It was dark, dingy and it stank. 

 The winds from the Sea of Swords whipped through the ward, bringing salt and sleet hammering against the dull rock buildings. The clouds, black and oppressive, gathered in the sky above, unleashing wave after wave of lashing rain upon the streets of Waterdeep. The shadows and darkness created by the river were natural hiding places for the thieves and rogues, so rife in this area of Waterdeep.

 Imoen walked through the howling wind, her cloak wrapped tightly around herself, and her staff thudding heavily against the slippery rock surface of the streets. She glanced enviously at the warmth and light of the houses and many taverns, and wished for a second that she was safe inside there, with a mug of ale, looking into the crackling depths of the flames that burned in the ancient hearths.

 Wishful thinking.

 Instead, she was walking in a heavy storm that had most people in Waterdeep safe in their beds, warm- or cold, depending on their monetary situation. Hardly any of them were striding through the streets huddled against the rain. 

 But then, hardly any of them were archmages desperately trying to stave of the destruction of Amn, the mercantile empire far to the south, and a constant and bitter business rival of the City of Splendour.

 "Apheyr is most happy, archmage Imoen. He feels free finally, in the wind and rain of Toril. It sings to his air elemental blood… he want you to know how grateful Apheyr is for this chance to experience the delight of the weather."

 As usual, Imoen could hear the richly accented voice of the air genasi mage. With the wind though, it should have gone quieter, but his voice was just as strong- if not stronger. It floated on the wind, powerful and potent.

 She grinned slightly, "Believe me, Apheyr, this was not my intention!"

 The air genasi caught up with her, wearing his bright white robes with the sky blue runes of magic marked on them. His two daggers made from the shards of an ice elemental prince lay sheathed in his blue-silk belt. Imoen noticed that his feet were not touching the floor- that he was floating. He turned his face to stare at Imoen, his face concerned,

 "You did not wish to make Apheyr feel happy?"

 Imoen swallowed her laugh. "No, silly. I mean it wasn't my intention to get caught in this terrible weather. We were meant to be here three days ago. Damn that inter-planar distortion… my planar sphere hasn't got enough energy to continue all these temporal shifts to move us around quickly…"

 Apheyr sighed, "A down-side to possessing a planar sphere. This, Apheyr knows most well. His friend, Taiblin Amaji, a fire genasi possessed one- it exploded once Taiblin was attempting a shift such as you said. Luckily Taiblin had gained enough foresight to protect himself, or there would be one lost soul trapped between planes."

 Imoen shook her head. "Once again, Apheyr, you inspire me with absolute confidence."

 The mage smiled. "That is good. Apheyr would not want to scare you."

 She sighed, "I was being sarcastic."

 "Apheyr does not understand you."

 A sudden movement to her left made Imoen frown. She said to Apheyr, "Stop! I can hear something. There is something moving around. Apheyr, tell the twins to get here quickly."

 "We are here, Imoen."

 Imoen saw the shining skin of the two bards appear out of the shadows. They had obviously cast an invisibility spell to keep themselves safe from casual observers. But now that need had passed. Something was coming for them.

 Something big.

 A rumbling in the earth made Imoen swallow, her mouth dry. "Boy, am I tired of this."

 "Apheyr wishes to know of this boy… who is he?"

 Imoen thought it better to ignore him. While she still could, she activated her contingencies, and then grasped her staff tightly as her spell protections surrounded her. After wrestling with her thoughts to decide the best cause of action, she sent a spinning chromatic orb into the air, and watched as it exploded, lighting up the street.

 Hopefully, the City Watch would see the flash, and come to aid her and her companions.

 The rumbling continued, and Imoen took another step back. Fire flashed around her, and she heard the aasimar twins scream in pain. Imoen saw the tell-tale streaks of barrier-shattering spells, and instinctively cast a spell shield. 

 The spells sent to blast aside her protections were absorbed by the shield, which then disintegrated. Imoen hastily replenished the spell shield with another spell, and turned to see her attackers.

 But nothing showed any trace of an attacker.

 Except for a faintly stirring shadow on the roof!

 A quick spell sent a series of magic missiles leaping from her hand towards the distant figure. A loud shout and Imoen felt an invisibility spell shatter, revealing the extent of the attack upon her person.

 She paled.

 Twenty wizards!

 She backed away, and sent a bolt of chain lightning rushing towards the wizards. One wizard was struck, and the wizard beside him was hit by the energy as it leapt between them. But it did not kill them. Imoen could only assume they were protected by some sort of lightning resistance.

 Spell protections, gleaming and bright sprang up around the attacking mages.

 "Apheyr sees our deaths, Imoen. There are too many wizards to fight."

 Imoen whispered, "Use an invisibility spell, then fly above the range of their detection spells. Then you can soar down and take as many as possible out. Don't worry, they will be hard-pressed to stand against me."  
 She drew herself up, and threw back her cloak, frowning and pulling her best impression of a powerful archmage, angry and powerful. Finally though, she had to smile. "Darn, I'm just not cut out for all this whole 'I'm an archmage, die please' kinda life. Listen up, you guys, should I give you to the count of three before coming to smack your stinky bottoms, or am I just gonna save myself the trouble and fry your butts?"

 There was a silence.

 "That is it, you are so gonna die!"

 She moved her hand, and unleashed a spell trigger. Khelben's warding whip sprang around one of the mages, then another, then another. Spell protections faded, and vainly they tried to cast them again- but this was what Imoen wanted. 

 With a few flippant gestures, she launched a fireball- then a cloudkill spell towards the wizards. The combination of cloudkill and fire created a massive explosion that caused the buildings the wizards were standing to collapse, into a massive crater. Sulphur and smoke could be smelt, and Imoen sighed when she heard the many shouts of alarm spreading through Waterdeep. 

 The City Watch would certainly be here soon.

 Imoen turned to see about eleven wizards picking themselves up from the ground. Nine of them had been killed by the explosion- there were limits to what a spell could protect from, and an explosion powerful enough to destroy three buildings was just that bit past the limit.

 "I did warn you guys… whoever you are. Hey, if it was up to me, there wouldn't be any killing anywhere… it's your own fault. You could have just left me alone, and I wouldn't have had to do the whole 'ass-kicking mage' affair, would I? Ah well, shall we continue to dance the dance of death, as I heard one pompous git say before I fried him? Oops, maybe I shouldn't say that, it's probably jinxed, that phrase. Darn, your getting me all waffly. Tell you what, you could just wiggle your cutesy little fingers and teleport yourselves out of here, and then I could get on with my tiny little quest… how rude!"

 Multiple protection-breaking spells hit her, and one of them broke through the spell shield. Luckily, she still had other protections activated. She put her free hand on her hip, and yelled: "That was a dirty trick, attacking me while I was shouting at you! You weirdos!"

 She cast an earthquake spell, adapted to the arcane arts after a discussion with Viconia and Anomen. She watched as the wizards tumbled and fell. Spells they had been casting failed, and they grunted as the backlash of failed energy rushed through them.

 Imoen gestured with her staff, and sent a series of lightning bolts and fireballs sailing through the air. The eleven wizards teleported though, until they were standing on the other buildings behind her. She shook her head.

 "Are you thick, you morons? How about a bit of déjà vu to brighten things up!"

 This time she sent three cloudkill spells, and then sent her special fireball. This time she was thrown back by the force and heat. Rock and dust sprayed all over the area, as an entire row of houses was destroyed.

 But the eleven wizards still stood, standing now in front of her. Imoen realised they had used an illusion to trick her into thinking they were standing on the building. She jumped to her feet, "That's kinda clever, y'know. Something old Elmy'd do. Y'know, use the old 'I'm an archmage, lets trick ya' routine. Shame its so old. Oh, and by the way, this whole 'silence' thing? That's old too. Way, too old. In fact, it stinks like a half-rotten corpse. Damn, you are really annoying, do y'all know that?"

 It was a sign of how annoyed Imoen was that she was falling back into her old way of speaking. Her education in Suldanesselar before they started the quest to defeat the Five had helped her speak more 'properly'. But when she was infuriated, she found herself lapsing into the Imoen speak that she loved so much more than the arrogant, pompous, oh-so-correct way of speaking that most people preferred.

 She sent a cone of cold blasting towards the line of wizards.

 In the centre of that cone of cold, Apheyr appeared, wielding his two daggers. He moved inside the blast of cold air, and as the ice washed over the wizards, he landed beside them, as fast and cat-like as Imoen had seen. His dagger stabbed through the protections of one wizard, who had not been anticipating a physical fight. 

 But Imoen saw no more of that fight.

 A flash of blackness made her grunt, and she stumbled forward. When her vision was restored, she saw two angelical beings standing before her. An aura of pure malevolence could be sensed, rolling off the two like heat from a flame.

 Planetar!

 Imoen cursed, and utter a quick spell, teleporting herself about three hundred yards down the street. The angelic beings, with their dark wings, leapt into the air, and started to soar towards her. 

 Two golden arrows struck them directly.

 And two more.

 And two more.

 The aasimar twins knelt in the corner of a street, shooting arrow after gleaming arrow with their golden bows. The dark planetar stopped in their attack on Imoen, and turned to face the twins, who did not flinch. With vicious speed, the two dark angelic beings raised blades of black energy, and struck the heads of the two aasimar, shattering through armour with ease. Imoen shrieked, "No!"

 But the planetar did not worry about human emotions. They had been summoned merely to kill, to defeat this archmage before she could hinder the advance of evil any more than she already had.

 Imoen rasped out spell after spell, sending energy in its purest form attacking the planetar. Wind, ice, fire! Fire, ice, wind! Chromatic orbs, magic missiles, force missiles, ice daggers, fireballs, cones of cold, fingers of death, stunning spells, time stop… Imoen tried everything, throwing every single spell she had memorised at these monsters.

 But they did not stop.

 Imoen screamed out a spell in pure desperation, but watched in despair as it fizzled into the air, a broken mess of energy. One of the planetar towered above her, its weapon gleaming black. Its sword swept through the air towards her-

 -but the creature was thrown back.

 Imoen gaped, as another planetar, this one a bright pink swept into the dark one. The pink and black creature clashed, striking at each other with blades of equal power. Imoen turned to face the other planetar, and watched as it raised its blade above her, ready to strike her into death- 

 -but it never made the slash.

 A solar, gleaming gold knocked the second planetar, and Imoen watched in wonder as the four divine beings clashed in the skies above Waterdeep. Apheyr landed nearly silently beside Imoen, and stared at them in awe.

 "Apheyr has never seen anything so beautiful, or so terrifying."

 Imoen just stood silently.

 With loud curses, the dark planetar fled from the pink and golden divine agents, leaping into a vortex of energy created by the arrival of so many divine agents in such a short time. Imoen watched as the golden and pink agents looked at each other for a time- then the golden one leapt into the same vortex-

 -the pink one walked towards Imoen.

 _Imoen!_

She recognised the voice immediately, "Cespenar?"

 _Yes, unfortunately. Your Lady of Song has a terrible sense of humour. I accepted her service, and asked her to increase my power- obviously thinking of her turning me into a higher glabrezu, or something. But she turned me into a male bard, which, while the various parts of the anatomy interested me, was hardly desirable to me. I asked her to change me into something else, and so she turned me into a pink planetar. Ah, the ignobility! _

Imoen raised an eyebrow. "Ah… yes. I suppose you could see it like that…"

 _Oh, I do. But it doesn't matter. Kathryn is a better mistress than Bhaal ever was, and it she wants to make me suffer like this, then I am sure she has a reason. Besides, I am starting to quite like this body. Makes me much more desirable, I think. Take the other day, I was walking through Realmspace, when I met a really rather voluptuous elven maiden, as you do, and she was really quite taken with me, so I chatted with her for a few hours, and then we started-_

"Cespenar! I didn't want to hear of your escapades when you were an imp, and I certainly don't want to hear of them when you're a planetar!"

 _Fine, be like that. The Mistress wants me to give you a big apocalypse talk, or something like that. She told me to say that a massive conflict is coming, both in the heavens and on Faerûn. For you to stand a chance, you must find and bring together the companions she ever met and who ever travelled with the party. All are targets, all must be saved from the tides of evil that threaten to defeat us all._

"I see."

 _This is really important, Imoen. She told me that if you fail in this, there is no hope for Amn, and her worship will fall into the mire of anonymity. All the good she hopes to accomplish will fade, and all that will exist is endless strife in the realm of Amn and the __Sword__Coast__…_


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**_Hello. Sorry that this chapter has taken so long. At present, I am suffering from a rare batch of F.A.D (that is, Festive Affective Disorder) and I am finding it difficult to keep my enjoyment in writing the story. However, I know that I have just a few 'bridging' chapters to get into the meat of the story. If you can bear with my annoying slowness of updating, then I hope you get to enjoy this. Thanks for all the lovely reviews I've had. They are the main reason I have clawed my way from the Abyss to write for you all: thanks again! ~ G_**

**Chapter Twenty Four: The Grove**

_Trademeet Grove, 14 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 The grove floated with the serene energy of nature. The wind stirred the grass, and it rippled like so many tiny whirlpools. Jaheira listened to the river giggling along, brushing like molten silver across so many rocks and stones. Within that water, she knew, trolls had died and spiders had leaked their ichors.

 Many months ago, this place had been a wreck, crushed and broken beneath the feet of the Shadow Druids, and that misguided druid, Faldorn. Now though, under her patient tutelage, it had grown and flourished. Flowers with multitudes of colour had sprouted, and their light pollen whispered throughout the valley like pixie dust.

 "All seems well, now."

 Cernd spoke as his strong hands massaged her neck. They moved skilfully, knitting out any locations of unease and stress, and turning them into shivering delight. Jaheira smiled, and breathed in deeply, then out again. 

 "It is, my love. The grove has never seemed so… peaceful."

 Her husband wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her neck. "Jaheira… my love. It is all down to you, this peace and bountiful flourishing... I feel weak and second-rate when placed beside the fire and passion of your strength."

 Jaheira grinned. "Ever the poet, Cernd."

 He nodded. "Poetic litany bestows such inner grace that we may fight against the beast of war and violence, except when that war and violence is necessary for the protection of nature in all her beauty."

 She raised an eyebrow. "Ah, my sweet man. You begin to sound like a strange cross between a Shadow Druid and a bard."

 Cernd shrugged. "Otherwise known as a druid. When we are called to do so, the balance must be protected. You have seen this; it is why we must act with your old friend, this Kathryn, to preserve Amn."  
 Jaheira cut through his words with her normal sharpness. "To preserve an empire founded on corruption, you mean."

 The druid hugged her close. "An empire founded on unity, which grew into corruption. And if it can grow _in _tocorruption, then it can certainly grow _out _of corruption. But that is beside the point. When the Balance is threatened, we must take action, Jaheira. That is the oldest law of a druid. Sitting here with the other druids will not aid the balance. We must march to Athkatla with all our number to offer the Council our aid."

 She shook her head. "I will not offer our aid to the Council, Cernd."

 "Not even for the Balance?"

 Jaheira stared at him. "I will _not _offer aid to the Council."

 Cernd sighed. "You will have to act eventually, Jaheira."

 She rolled her eyes. "And when I have to, I will act."

 A sense of unease washed through her as she said that, and her muscles tightened. Cernd whispered, "What's wrong? What have you sensed?"

 Jaheira stood, and closed her eyes, sending her senses throughout the grove. Through every plant, through the eyes of every animal, the Great Druid could sense. A falcon soaring overhead saw a tree fall… a beetle was crushed underneath a hard foot- iron-shod and merciless.

 "Invaders…"

 An image flashed in her mind then, as, through the eyes of a nimble fox, she saw a massive ogre lurching through the forest, followed by more and more of the brutes. Behind them, masses of orcs lurched. She whirled and faced Cernd. "Quickly, gather the druids! There are orcs and ogres- hundreds of them!"

 She watched as Cernd shape shifted before her very eyes, into the form of a falcon. He whispered in her mind, _I will be back in moments, with the rest of our brethren. Do not do anything rash, Jaheira._

"I will try not to, Cernd. Now, hurry!"

 And saying, Jaheira picked up a tall wooden staff that lay on the floor, and narrowed her eyes determinedly. Closing her eyes again, she summoned the powers granted to her as Great Druid. Immediately, the awareness of every animal in the grove became hers, and she issued silent commands…

 _Attack… Kill… Devour…_

She heard the agonised roars of ogres and orcs as the animals of the grove started to attack. Jaheira sent more mental commands through the synapses of nature, and watched mercilessly as thorns and vines started to grow before her. All around the grove, the vines and the grove itself would be turning against the intruders.

 Jaheira then raised her eyes heavenward, and shrieked, her human form melting away, becoming the sleek shape of an eagle, which ripped through the air with great speed, soaring towards the intruders.

 Her keen eyes saw them, struggling to keep order while wolverines and wild dogs scrambled in their ranks, while vines tore at their eyes, while multitudes of beetles and insects bit and ripped at legs and vulnerable parts.

 "Waste no time with these beasts, find the druids! Find the druids and kill them! Remember, the friends of the Bhaalspawn must die!"

 Jaheira shrieked in fear. They had come for her? 

 The fear was swiftly replaced by anger. They had come for her! 

 They would find her, then, and realise what it meant to be a protector of nature!

 She plummeted to the earth, and landed before the advancing orcs and ogres, and in an instant, had transformed back into her human form. Her eyes crackled with power as she surveyed the intruders.

 "You wished to kill the friend of a Bhaalspawn, fools? Then come forth, do your worst, and see if nature will suffer you to continue your putrid lives. Silvanus, aid me now!"

 And lightning struck the ground before her, as the orcs started to thrash towards her, axes and clubs and swords wielded firmly. Jaheira stared at the ground, uttered a few words, and watched as vines sprang out of nowhere, enveloping the orcs.

 With another prayer, Jaheira sent swarms of flies and bees rushing towards the orcs, getting inside their armour, biting and searing. She shouted again, and felt the earth rumble. A circle of white light appeared, and from it raised a fire elemental, its shapeless mass of fire looking intimidating and strange.

 _Kill the orcs and ogres._

Her mental command sent the elemental charging into the vines, which attempted to grapple it. But its fire turned the vines that reached for it into ash, and it was soon wrapping long arms around the necks of orcs and ogres alike, sending them into burning, agonised deaths.

 Jaheira took a step back, as more and more orcs marched towards her. Not enough of them were being held by the vines. She growled another prayer, and watched as more lightning sizzled to the ground, sending shards of dirt and earth exploding around the grove as it struck.

 Orcs were flung, screaming, through the air. Ogres swayed slightly on their feet. Shouting loudly, Jaheira gave up casting spells, and rushed toward the orcs and ogres, swinging right and left with her staff. She watched as the elemental, surrounded by orcs, finally died with its pain echoing throughout her mind.

 Swing.

 An orc fell to the floor, its neck looking oddly lopsided.

 Swing.

 Another stumbled, its chest and ribs crushed beneath her vicious onslaught.

 Kick. 

 A loud grunt from an orc as her hard kick to the midriff winded it.

 Swing.

 The winded orc soon lost the life from its eyes as her staff struck its forehead.

 "Jaheira, fall back!"

 She turned, her auburn locks moving wildly. "Cernd!"

 Her lover stood, holding his own staff. Lighting splayed from that staff, as he called to nature with his own prayers. An ogre looming over Jaheira shrieked, and then fell to the floor, its flesh smoking. Quickly, she moved back, and took up a position beside Cernd.

 "Where are the others?"

 Cernd made a broad gesture, and Jaheira nodded as tiny mice, rats and birds disintegrated, and then formed the shapes of druids. Twenty-seven druids, all holding staves, all ready to defend the grove from invaders.

 "Lightning, against the orcs: now!"

 Every druid present started to chant. Jaheira did so also, her eyes gleaming with fury. She watched as fork after fork of violent, jet-blue lightning leaped to the ground. The smell of burned flesh filled the area, and smoke made vision hazy.

 But still the orcs advanced.

 Jaheira swore. "Once more!"

 Again, the lightning flared, desperate and glorious with its furious power. Orcs and ogres fell by the dozen, but still there were more, and they marched with anger against the druids who dealt so much death.

 By now, the druids were weary. Jaheira shouted, "Those who can, cast the lightning spell! The rest, use whatever spells you have left!"

 Trust the orcs to attack when the druids had barely memorised enough spells to burn a log. Jaheira cursed. Whatever spells they had memorised, it would have to do. There was no-one else to defend the grove but the druids.

 More lightning sparked, but now the orcs and ogres had reached the druids, and started to slash at them. Jaheira swung her staff again and again, bludgeoning the evil creatures before her. With every shaking whack, she felt the skill of her old adventuring days return to her. A year ago, she had stopped, but now it was coming back- the thrill, the pace, the wonderful pulsing feeling of excitement.

 Beside her, Cernd had transformed into the dreaded werewolf form, and orcs grunted in fear as he thrust himself, a whirling cloud of fangs and claws, towards unprotected necks and eyes, killing them quickly, scattering their blood.

 Jaheira cracked another skull, but saw one of her druids fall, surrounded by irrepressible orcs who swung with crude clubs, dirty swords and the like. Another druid fell, then another, and Jaheira knew that she would not survive the battle.

 And then, with a scream on her lips, she saw Cernd go down, a spear through his chest. 

 Distracted, she failed to deflect the orc attack, and pain seared within her skull. Groaning, she fell to the floor, and blackness washed in a great tide.

* * * 


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**_Note: From now on, I may be using my artistic licence to create creatures in the Forgotten Realms, which will hopefully constitute more of a threat to the L40 Nalia and Imoen! ~G_**

**Chapter Twenty Five: Death and Torture**

_Trademeet Grove, 14 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 Imoen paled- she was too late. 

 The grove was blackened, ash stirred in the cold breeze, trees had been chopped down, and the blood of dead and dying druids was scattered across the once beautiful place. She took a shaking step forward, exchanging a look with Apheyr, who looked as horrified as she felt.

 "Apheyr is worried, Archmage Imoen. What if the orcs are still here?"

 She sighed. "They will have gone. They have done what they came to do- they have removed on of the more powerful allies Nalia could have gained… somebody who has a keen appreciation of politics is behind this. How else could they have known to attack Jaheira?"

 The blue-skinned mage raised an eyebrow. "The Companion of Kathryn is known to evil, just as she is known to Apheyr. Those who control the orcs do not have to understand the political schemes… they just need to understand the power, and who has it."

 Nodding, she continued walking forward. The grove was strangely quiet- the orcs had gone, and there seemed to be no sound. If Nalia hadn't known any better, she would have said it had been snowing, but she knew it wasn't snow, it was ash- putrid ash from burnings trees.

 A touch of wind moved past them, and Imoen wrapped her cloak tightly around herself, feeling cold to the bone, defeated and alone. Before her, the ash shifted and swirled, like the ebb and flow of a great tide- a great tide of death and destruction…

 "This destruction… Apheyr feels sick."

 The simple words made Imoen bow her head, eyes beginning to glisten with tears. It was only now beginning to sink in what had happened… Jaheira… dead… Jaheira, the druid who had fought with them to rescue Faldorn, and who had then stopped travelling with them to tend to nature… Jaheira, who had saved Kathryn and Imoen from the first assassin, in the Friendly Arm Inn… Jaheira… Jaheira who would once again be reunited with Khalid.

 She stumbled, and fell to her knees in the ash. The magic of the grove must be fading, for now the snow and ice from deepwinter started to fall, pure white like crystals, cold and perilous like steel. The ash was dry, and it powdered in her hands. The snow was wet, and it melted as it touched her warm skin.

 Jaheira… gone…

 Imoen had failed. 

 Again.

 _The others had been killed as well- each time, Imoen had arrived too late to save her old companions from blade, spell or poison. The power of Kathryn's archmages, Apheyr and Imoen, was unable to save those that the goddess of song needed._

_ Minsc, crushed and smashed into a bloody, broken wreck, a battle cry half-formed dying on his blue, pallid lips… Imoen had never seen the attacker, but to kill the berserker, it would have had to be something very powerful._

_ Aerie: plummeting from the skies, her wings torn from her back by merciless harpies, swarms of the black creatures darkening the daylight, their red eyes glinting with feral ferocity._

_ Jan Jansen, possessed by a dark shadow from ancient times, which controlled his movements, sending him, screaming for help, over the cracked and charred battlements of Athkatla. Imoen had never found his body, but she had sensed his death._

_ Mazzy Fentan, driven mad by a subtle poison, and made to kill her own family, and then made to run, crazy, throughout Trademeet, hacking and slashing and calling to the dark gods. Imoen had come to her just as her wits returned, and saw the small halfling kill herself, calling out for the gods of mercy, who would aid her anguished soul…_

 "Archmage Imoen!"

 The musical, vibrant voice of the blue archmage made Imoen start out of the memories of death and torture that washed within her mind, and she turned to see his eyes regarding her: "Apheyr can hear someone else crying. He believes that it is off to the east."

 Imoen stood, and a gust of wind, much more violent than before, made her robes surge and billow madly. She murmured a single word, and then started running towards the east, whirling through the snow and wind with a speed enhanced by magic. Alongside her, Apheyr soared, ice-white robes billowing behind him like angelic wings. 

 They rushed into a small clearing amidst burnt and toppled trees, and Imoen saw something that made her feel liberated, and saddened, at the same time. Jaheira was alive! She was kneeling in ash, while three other druids stood alongside her- she cradled the limp, bloodied body of Cernd, and was weeping.

 Imoen whispered, "Jaheira."

 The druid looked up, and something flickered in her eyes. "Its all my fault, Imoen… all my fault. Cernd has been telling me for weeks to aid the Council, and Nalia, but I have been too stubborn. I have been too unflinching, and now my hesitation has cost him his life, and the life of nearly all of my druids- and the grove. It is _gone. _The magic, the life, the beauty… all… gone…"

 Without a word, for words would not do in this instance, Imoen sank to her knees beside Jaheira, and wrapped her arms around the druid warmly. Tears once again streaked silver down Imoen's cheeks. Jaheira had lost her first husband, Khalid, and now she had lost her second, Cernd. Would there be no end to her suffering?

 "Shh… its okay… its okay… I promise you, its okay…"

 And they sat like that for a long time, hugging and weeping, while above them, snow fell, touching upon the frost-bitten floor, and mingling with the powdery ash, small sprinkles of glistening sprinkles amidst the evil of burned bodies, trees. It was a wasteland now, a desert. Imoen sighed.

 She knew Jaheira needed time to grieve.

 But time was not something they had in abundance.

*

 Valygar Corthala stalked silently through the dense undergrowth of the forest in the Umar Hills. He held his katanas easily, occasionally flicking his eyes to the rippling, flickering enchantments laid upon the blade. Imoen had done them for him, Imoen, that beautiful young girl who had persuaded him that magic was not all evil, and who had sent him to the Umar Hills, to take up the lordship of the area.

 The Council of Six had reluctantly agreed, and so Valygar had spent the last few months ruling over the small holding, with the villagers becoming accustomed to the lord and his cultured, gentle and aristocratic ways. 

 They had become accustomed to the lord often fighting to defend the village against enemies, both human and spirit. And they had become accustomed to the tiny sect of worshippers in the forest, worshippers who were praying to a dead god, a dead god of the sun- Amaunator.

 Valygar himself was one of those worshippers. He remembered travelling with Kathryn for about three weeks, ridding the temple from the shades, and then, while investigating the Cult of the Eyeless, finding another temple, with an avatar of the dead god himself.

 It had been proof to Corthala that gods do not die, they just fade to a shadow of their former selves- and it had been this that had sparked him to become a patron of the temple in the Umar Hills, which still had only a tiny faction, but which would, given time and peace, grow into something potent.

 But, according to the dreams sent him by Kathryn, time and peace were luxuries they did not have, and for that reason the temple was now protected by the might of Kathryn, who had taken the responsibility of watching over Amaunator's flock, answering their prayers and protecting his faithful.

 A hissing sound made Valygar whirl quickly, and he frowned into the shadows of the forest. A cold winter's wind stirred, and he shivered. He tightened his grip on his katanas, and took a step back-

 Which probably saved his life.

 What seemed like a blast of pure blue light sliced through the air, narrowly missing him. Immediately, with superb reflexes born from years of fighting, Valygar threw himself to the floor, rolling, then standing to face his attacker.

 It was a woman, but a woman with strange features. Her face was like a hawks, all sharp teeth, and hooked beak. Her skin was a vivid electric blue, her fingers were like knives of gleaming silver, and when she spread her arms, leathery wings could be seen. A shriek made Valygar shudder, as if someone had dunked him in a freezing spring, and with lightning speed, the creature vaulted towards him.

 Slash.

 He brought his katanas up, across her throat, and she fell to the floor, steaming energy pouring from the wound, until she collapsed to the floor, and faded in a melting aura of purple-blue smoke. Valygar barely had time to react, however, as from the undergrowth; two more of the creatures sprang.

 Slash, parry, slash, parry.

 They fell, jerking and rasping. But then Valygar forced himself not to think as, from the shadows, more and more of the creatures attacked. Valygar's katanas rose and fell, dispatching the attackers. A pained grunt escaped him as silver, hooked claws scraped across his cheek. He shuddered as a bitter cold raced through him, and he stumbled slightly, thrusting deep into the chest of one of the creatures with his weapons.

 His reflexes slightly slower, he attacked another one, then another, then another, but a second set of claws scraped him, this time penetrating deep into his chest. The coldness was even more pronounced this time, and he felt his right arm lock, gripped by solid ice. 

 Using his one remaining arm, he killed another of the creatures, then another- but now he was feeling lethargic, and his reactions were coming more slowly. He failed to parry another attack from the creatures, and long fingers sliced deep into his right chest.

 He felt one of his lungs shrivel with ice, and he coughed and choked as he felt ice grow and expand within his chest. Writhing, he fell to the floor, and breathed out- white smoke sprayed out, condensation…

 And then it went. A wave of heat washed over him, and the ice melted instantly. With eyes obscured by tears of pain, Valygar turned, and saw Imoen standing, sheathed in light, sending magic against the creatures around him, arcane words tumbling from her lips, and the ground shaking with the force of her fury.

 Valygar smiled.

 He was saved.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Nashkel**

_Kathryn's Rest, 20 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 Outside the inn, the snow was falling heavily, laying a white blanket across the isolated village of Nashkel, so-called the wart on Amn's backside. Nalia sat at a table in front of a large fire, sipping delicately at a glass of Tethyrian red, savouring the delicate blend of flavour. At the table alongside her, Anomen and Keldorn sat, in silence, watching the snow fall outside.

 Nalia imagined Kathryn sitting in this inn, at this very table, with Jaheira, Khalid, Dynaheir and Minsc, wet from rain, tired from travelling, and weary from all the questions that needed to be answered. Back then, Kathryn had been just a fledgling bard, just learning the trade, learning the ways of adventuring.

 And now she was a god.

 There was something sacred to Nalia, about sitting in a piece of her friends past; part of her friends past that she herself had not belonged to. This inn was thick with a resonance, of sort, thick with the power that normally stayed in a place that a god remembered well, that a god had walked within.

 The innkeeper was keen to tell stories about the goddess, and in an effort to pull in more customers, he had renamed the inn, Kathryn's Rest. Nalia smiled to herself. It would all help the people of Amn to realise that there actually was a goddess, a new goddess, in the heavens now. A new goddess who knew what it was like to be human, who knew what it was like to be defenceless and alone in the world.

 Keldorn asked, "Have you heard where the remnants of the Order are hiding?"

 Nalia whispered, "Somewhere in the hills… the locals said that every few days, a few knights will come down, talk to Berrun Ghastkill, the Mayor, and then return to the hills- apparently they are fighting a continuous battle against undead and necromancers."

 "Zhentarim?" queried Anomen.

 "I'm not sure. Probably some of them are. When necromancers gather in enough numbers to keep three hundred knights of the Order busy, then something powerful must bind them together. Of all wizards, necromancers are perhaps the most self-serving. It comes of having to spend all day with half-rotten corpses."

 A faint smile appeared on Keldorn's face. "Well, it doesn't really matter today. Tomorrow, we can travel south, up into the mountains, and see if we can locate these paladins. I doubt they will have heard the news of our Order's destruction, yet."  
 Anomen growled, his eyes narrowed. "It is not destroyed yet. Just scattered. Once I have these three hundred knights under my command, I can begin to gather the rest- and then I can join Nalia in her fight against the Sythillisian Empire…" He paused. "When will you travel to Eshpurta, my lady?"

 Nalia said, "As soon as everything here is in order. I want to make sure that there are several people left to carry on the fight should I fall… though I do not intend to fall. I _will _defeat these upstart ogres, and then I shall return to Athkatla in triumph."

 They remained silent, the fire crackling furiously.

*

 The camp of the knights was bedraggled and worn. There were far more knights present than Nalia had expected. There were about three thousand of them, all wearing sooty armour, dented weapons, and bruised helmets. Their horses were tired, sweaty and shivering in the cold.

 Anomen was pale. "This is the full strength of the Order. Three thousand knights were dispatched to various locations throughout Amn. Three hundred here, single knights to odd manor houses, one hundred to the south… three thousand were sent away, and now they have all come here…"

 A thought wormed its way into Nalia's head. "Then they already know about the destruction of the Order in Athkatla, and they gather here under the banner of the Prelates son… Anomen, you must not let his son rule in your stead."

 The priest of Helm said, "And why not? Why am I any more suited to ruling the Order than the son of Wessallen? Nalia, just because you wish it so, does not mean it should be. You may want the Order to be nothing more than just another political tool, but I will not let that happen!"

 Nalia narrowed her eyes, and such was her anger that the de'Arnise staff started echoing her emotions, crackling with red lightning. She said with cold clarity, "I _do not _want the Order as _slaves, _Anomen. But the _war _has come, and a war calls for the brave, wise, and favoured of the gods to lead. Heribert is young, and noble- he will be a great leader for the future, but _not now. _Now, it either has to be you, or Keldorn."

 The older paladin coughed. "No. I am here to serve, not to be served."

 The wizard de'Arnise nodded. "Then it must be you, Anomen. It must be you."

 They walked in silence towards the camp, and within seconds they were spotted by sentries, who cried out in alarm. Nalia whispered, "Anomen, you must speak to them. I am your guest, nothing more…"

 Anomen nodded. He knew exactly what the Order would do if they thought _Nalia _controlled their group. If Nalia had the power, and Anomen- who appeared to be part of Nalia's retinue, wanted to gain control of the Order- it didn't bear thinking about. No, better to let the paladins know that Anomen was completely separate from the de'Arnise name and heart…

 _What an odd choice of word… heart…_

 "Hail, Lord Anomen, and Lord Firecam! It brings us great pleasure to see two such great knights present and safe. And the Lady de'Arnise? Well, we _are _honoured this day. Welcome."

 Nalia saw a young man walking towards them, wearing simple armour and carrying a longsword ingraved in powerful Helmite runes. His helmet was a dark ebony black, and rested atop his head, the symbol of the ever-seeing eye emblazoned upon it. Immediately, she bowed: "Sir Heribert."

 The young man smiled, though it was slightly hidden by the metal of the helmet. "I have not looked upon your face for a while, my lady… not since three summers ago, when I visited your estates…"

 It was difficult to imagine that Nalia and Heribert were the same age. But they were. Whereas Heribert had remained in Athkatla, and trained his martial arts and paladin skills until he was judged ready, Nalia had been flung out into the world of adventuring, ready to be chewed up and spat out as something new.

 "You seem well, my lord."

 A shadow passed across his eyes. "As well as one can be during such times… as well as one can be… I was not exaggerating, my friends, when I said I was glad to see you. I really am. To know we have three heroes in our midst…"

 Anomen spoke then. "I take it you have heard of the events in Athkatla?"

 Heribert nodded. "Knights have been arriving in the mountains for the past few days, transported by scrolls and magic… my father made sure all paladins and knights had scrolls to take them to safety, and most knights knew I was here, so they teleported her with the magic… we are three thousand strong, and we are ready to bring vengeance upon the evils that have risen in Amn."

 Keldorn said, "A worthy sentiment…"

 There was a pause, in which nobody knew exactly what to say. Finally, Nalia decided to break the silence, by saying, "Heribert. The Council has given me control of sixty thousand warriors. They are assembling at Esmeltaran. After I have spoken with you, I will teleport myself south, to lead them against the ogre magi… in this, I will need the Order united, ready to defend Amn in the event that I fall."

 Whispering, Keldorn said, "And for the Order to be united, we need a leader. A leader ratified by Helm."

 Heribert sighed. "So that is why you are here. To take control of these knights away from me- do you know that my father served long and well these knights? He did not turn away from his duty once, and now you wish to strip this last command from me?"

 Anomen answered quickly, his voice firm and confident. "The office of Prelate has never been an inherited one, Heribert. The leader is marked by Helm- thus is the way it has always been."

 A simple nod from Keldorn made the young knight bite his lip. "Then it appears I have no choice. Come, let us gather the knights then, and elect a _new _Prelate from the ranks. Let us hope Helm is not so disgraced with our failures that he will turn from us in disgust and ridicule."

*

 "Warriors of justice, honour and duty. We are gathered here, to honour the tradition of our Order. In the interests of this meeting, I now step down from my temporary leadership, to be counted as equal amongst you all… now, those who consider yourselves worthy to be considered as leader of the Order, step forward."

 As he said this, Heribert stepped into the centre of the camp, and bowed before the campfire… Anomen did so also, as did perhaps twenty other knights. They removed their helmets, and knelt before the fire.

 "Helm, answer our prayer. Helm, answer our prayer. Helm, answer our prayer."

 The chanting of the knights rose to a fever pitch, and Nalia felt dizzy as she sensed the power rolling within their voices. The fire rose higher and higher, and she noticed the colour change from a dull mixture of red and yellow, to a brilliant, gleaming white. Nalia gaped at the beauty of it, as the magic of prayer rose higher and higher into the air, gleaming and iridescent.

 Gently, all but two people kneeling before the fire were lifted into the air, and then placed, still kneeling, along the edge of the rough circle that remained around the campfire. Still the prayers continued, and Nalia saw that the two people remaining were Anomen and Heribert.

 The white light grew even brighter, so much so that it rivalled the light of the stars above them- Nalia however, could not look away, so fascinated was she by this strange magic. The fire continued to rise, and then it tumbled downwards, consuming both Anomen and Heribert… Nalia gasped, thinking Anomen had been burnt by the fire, but in an instant, the fire disappeared, and so did the firewood, leaving a single rock on which was engraved the eye of Helm… 

 And standing, girt with the purest white armour, with a single circlet of silver bearing the eye of Helm, in the centre of undulating applause, was Anomen- and Heribert kneeled beside him, tears tumbling unashamedly down his face, silver as the circlet and the stars above the campfire.

 Nalia smiled.

 It was time for the salvation of Amn to begin.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Chapter Twenty Seven: Companions**

_Planar Sphere, 20 Hammer, 1370 DR_

 Imoen and Apheyr stood next to each other, looking out of the solid diamond window at the stars that glimmered outside the sphere. It was beautiful, being able to see the mystery of space just two inches away from her.

 The Planar Sphere was floating in the safety of space, where next to nothing could track them down- and if it did, it would find it near-impossible to penetrate the massive egg-shaped fortress. And what a fortress it was, with so many people now kept safe within its solid, unbroken walls.

 Firstly, Valygar Corthala, who was nervous at the magic of the thing, and nervous at returning to it, but who had gradually settled down. Then there was Jaheira, who was staring at everything Imoen had wrought with sheer wonderment. None of the other major companions of the Bhaalspawn had survived, but there were others who were powerful in their own right, and who were key targets, and allies of Kathryn.

 The three other druids from Trademeet Grove, a moon elf by the name of Kelevas, whose pale skin made him seem ghostly. An ambassador from Silverymoon, called Lydia- an archmage, accompanied by a retinue of six wizards from the city. Three knights of the Flaming Fist, Lords of the Gate who did not wish to die at the hands of assassins… three merchant barons from Athkatla, seven sages from Candlekeep… the list went on and on, sometimes minor, sometimes major. 

 It was a bit like putting all ones eggs in a single basket, Imoen supposed, but what an egg! The enemy that would want to defeat the Companions, as they liked to call themselves, would have to be potent indeed.

 "Archmage Imoen?"

 The soft and gentle voice of Apheyr brought her from her thoughts, and she stared into his startling eyes, "Yeah?"

 The air genasi licked his lips, and it occurred to Imoen that he was nervous. "Apheyr would like to tell you something… but he wants you not to become troubled by it. He can leave if you so wish it…"  
 Imoen raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

 Apheyr took a step back. "Apheyr wants to tell you that… that he… he… that is to say, he is… what he means is… you are… he… likes… likes… you? Likes you a lot? Oh, this is embarrassing! Apheyr loves you, Archmage Imoen."

 She raised a hand to her gaping mouth. "Really?"

 A simple nod. 

 Imoen frowned. What did she think? Did she _love _Apheyr? Certainly she had developed a fondness for his awkward speech and lack of knowledge about innuendos and sarcasm… he wasn't bad looking- his blue skin made him quite striking, and he was quite pretty… and he was certainly clever, and courageous, and commited…

 She found herself listing all his qualities, while looking into his eyes, and then she found herself smiling. _Yes, she did love him._ That admission startled her. Imoen, who had never found any use for boys, other than pleasure, had admitted she was in love?

 "Apheyr… I… I… I love you too."

 The smile from the air genasi made her giggle, wondering why she felt so light-headed, and giddy. She had become aware of how close he was to her, how little effort it would take just to wrap her arms around his waste, how soft those blue lips looked, how tender they would be to kiss…

 She blushed.

 "Archmage Imoen?"

 Breathlessly, she answered, "Yes?"

 "Apheyr would like to kiss you."

*

 They all gathered in the massive centre of the planar sphere in silence. Only an hour ago, at night time on the primal plane, something had happened, something that had the mark of Helm emblazoned across the Realms… 

 Scrying, Imoen had been able to locate the source of the disturbance, and was amazed to see Nalia, Anomen and Keldorn in her glass of shifting water. Nalia was smiling, Keldorn was looking on in approval… and _Anomen_… he was shining! His armour was strange, yet glorious, and on his brow he bore a silver circlet that shone with the all-seeing eye of Helm… Anomen had been named leader of the Order.

 Prelate Anomen. 

 Imoen smiled, and looked away from her scrying glass- directly into the eyes of a goddess. Kathryn stood in the massive room, shining with her soft blueish, pinkish light, her white hair flaring, her eyes crackling with the intensity of her power. Her might had increased greatly in the past few weeks, with the Church of All Song acknowledging her, and the High Priests of every church proclaiming her greatness and mercy across the Sword Coast…

 "Imoen… you have seen what has transpired?"

 The archmage nodded. "Yes. Anomen has become the most favoured of Helm within Amn. He will lead the Order against the evil- there is hope again, my friend."

 The bard-turned-god nodded. "So it would seem. But this action by Helm will precipitate the moves of the evil gods… already, the ogre Empire moves. Murann is in danger, if Nalia fails. I need to ask you to do something, Imoen."

 "Anything, my lady."

 The goddess smiled. "Thank you Imoen…" She looked around the room. "I need you, and all of the Companions within this room, to travel to Murann. You are to marshall their garrison, help the defence, use every magic at your disposal to defend the city- Nalia cannot fight all the forces of the Empire. Some are bound to penetrate. Be ready for them when they do… you Companions, who have been my allies through my mortal life, shall help the forces of good prevail. Know that if you die, you will be protected by me, and whatever other god you serve. Serve with honour."

 And with that, she disappeared.

 Imoen looked around, and said, "Well then… it looks as if Murann is our next destination."


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Some content might be a bit much, but I have not put anything detailed in her, just inferences… so I'll stick to PG-13… if anyone has any issues with my rating, please tell me- I have no idea how to judge on rating. But don't be disconcerted and _not _read. This chapter has taken a _lot _of effort to write… by the way, thanks for the continuing support! Updates should come more regularly now, as I am getting to the dramatic parts of the story. ~G**

**Chapter Twenty Eight: Trap**

_North of Imnescar, 1 Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

 It was safe to say that Nalia's campaign in the south had reached a complete stalemate. Based in Imnescar, the Amnian army, with twenty thousand knights and forty thousand infantry men, made regular attacks against the hill giants and ogres, but the enemy, who outnumbered the humans by far, were proving diligent indeed in repelling the legions.

 Yet it was a sign of the Amnian legions' superior training that the war had reached a stalemate at all, and a sign of Nalia and her advisors' ability with strategy. Not for the first time, Lady de'Arnise reflected that had this army been formed from the legions of Athkatla, and led by the bumbling men of that capitol, then this war would have been lost long ago.

 Nearly three months had passed since Nalia had left Nashkel, and the ice and snow of winter were starting to melt with the onset of spring- and with the thawing of ice, she and her generals expected further, more concentrated attacks… and at the moment, Murann was their weakest point.

 It was a massive trap, and a trap that Nalia knew they could not avoid.

 At any moment, the Sythillisian Empire could gather their hordes and lay siege to the jewel of the south… and the city would fall before Nalia could reinforce it. But if she moved to reinforce it _before _the empire moved, then her forces would be trapped within the city, unable to protect the south.

 Not for the first time, she cursed the Council. They had sent her to deal with the massive threat in the south, but with hardly any serious desire to deal with it. Putting her in command had been a relatively easy way to eliminate a threat to their superiority, and the Council of Six would sacrifice anything, perhaps even the southern part of their nation, to keep their power over the masses.

 Walking through the town of Imnescar, which was nestled on the edge of the moorland that separated the north from the south, Nalia could not help a sense of defeat entering her heart. There was not a warrior she walked past, who did not have some crack or dent in his armour. Many of the fighters had wounds as well, though they were dealt with as quickly as possible by the various clerics who supported the army.

 In that, at least, Anomen had been successful. 

 His first, and last, message had been to tell her that he was stationed in Athkatla, with Keldorn and the Order, to protect the city against any possible reprisals. He was trying to get the Council to send more men, but it must have only just sunk in to the rulers of Amn that they were in danger, and so they were keeping all armed forces- which amounted to another one hundred _thousand _fighters, in the north…

 While _her _soldiers fought tooth and fist to survive.

 She had ceased to think of this army as the Council's. After three months of solid fighting and skirmishing, an attachment had been formed between Nalia and the soldiers. They _were _hers. They had seen her unleash spells while standing at the front line, her staff a blazing beacon of hope in a tide of slaughter. 

 They had seen her lead a desperate charge with her household knights against the flank of an ogre detachment, in which she had nearly lost her life to one of the ogre magi. In every major battle, her fire was turned upon the enemy; her powers pushed the army to greater heights… Nalia de'Arnise was the true leader of this army, not six men and women in the north who were too cowardly to reveal themselves.

 She walked through the charred streets that were blasted with rubble and broken slabs of stone. The town had not escaped harm. Three times now, armies of hobgoblins, kobolds and goblins, in thrall to the ogre magi, had tried to destroy the town where the Amnish army was stationed- and thrice had they failed.

 But the last time had been too close.

 After so long fighting in the cold winter weather, Nalia's force was greatly depleted. Ten thousand warriors had been lost, leaving a little under fifty thousand in fighting fitness. _Ten thousand._That many lives, sent to the gods by the Council's inability to just _act. _They resisted the words of the Prelate, who was exhorting the leaders to summon the warriors of the powerful merchant families to aid Nalia. But they wouldn't.

 After all, how much would that endeavour cost?

 They were so _stupid._

 Hopefully, Anomen would give up soon, and march south to help her. The knights of Amn were skilled, but the knights under her companion's command were powerful indeed, and the ability of the paladins to detect evil would make this campaign a lot easier.

 "Lady Nalia!"

 Sighing, she turned, and saw Captain Cernick riding towards her on his stallion. Her own horse rode, ready for battle, beside him. Used to being prepared for battle at a moments notice, Nalia mounted the horse, grasping hold of the reins, and resting her staff underneath her arm.

 "Where is the enemy, Cernick?"

 For the first time since the start of this damned and cursed campaign, she saw her captain smile. He looked her straight in the eye, and grinned madly. "Lady, they march on the Hillforts! They have committed their full strength to the fight, and are moving through the Valley of Depran. The scouts are already in position. If the army moves quickly, we can ambush the ogres' main force, and end this war."

 Despite her upbringing, Nalia could not hide her relief. The final battle was to be fought. She smiled at Cernick, and then turned to look at the warriors standing on the street. Calling out to them, Nalia shouted, "Make ready for battle! Today, the war will be decided- and in our favour!"

 The shouts of the few soldiers on the street was loud, and Nalia heard the rest of the soldiers throughout the town take up the cry, as they were given orders by their superiors to advance east… towards the Hillforts… towards the end of the war…

*

 The army moved forward, a solid mass of goblins, kobolds and orcs. Every so often, surrounded by a mass of smaller warriors, lumbered a hill giant, or a troll. They were the juggernauts of the advance, just as the captains were the juggernauts of the human army. Take those massive beasts out, and the army of goblins would lost heart, becoming easy prey for the Amnian army.

 Nalia knelt in the undergrowth, aware that her mage robes were becoming muddy and damp- but there was not time for vanity before a battle. She was no longer the spoiled child of years ago. She was a warleader, an archmage, and soon to be the hero of Amn… again.

 "Lady, the rest of the captains are in position. The knights are ready to sweep down. The archers are positioned, ready to begin firing. Shall I give the order to attack?"

 She nodded. "Yes. But make it clear that the knights are not to attack until I give the command. And _only_ I. They will hear me, have no fear."

 Cernick nodded. "Aye."

 He scrambled off, and Nalia heard him whisper the precise commands to a runner, and then heard him repeat them again. There could be no room for error now. Precision, discipline, all the skills a soldier required, were called for now, or Amn would be doomed. 

 For the first time, Nalia was glad Anomen remained in Athkatla. At least if she fell, there would be someone to lead the defence. Someone backed up by the power of Kathryn _and _Helm…

 Moments passed, and then a roared shout commenced the attack.

 Arrows sped into the marching horde, and, long used to the ways of the ogres, the Amnish bowmen aimed for the hill giants. Screams and bellows of pain sounded as the mountains of strength tumbled to the floor. But there were many of them- perhaps a hundred, who were out of range. Nalia shouted to her archers, "Aim for the orcs now, quickly! The giants are too far away! Do not pick targets, just aim into the clump! Aim into the clump!"

 It was a relatively new tactic for the archers. When facing armies of this size, precision was not required. All that was needed was bowmen with enough strength to shoot an arrow that could kill. Aimed into the vast milling tide of enemies, an arrow could not help but to hit _something_.

 Nalia watched the army below them in the valley mill about, as they were attacked from all sides by the army of Amn. Horn calls sounded, crude and blasting, as the ogres desperately tried to restore a semblance of discipline. But it failed.

 The mismatch of creatures, each with their own language and instincts, went against the ogre horde. The goblins went one way, and were trampled by teeming kobolds fleeing the archers in another way. Ogres driven berserk by the arrows thudding around them, and desperate to attack _something, _lashed out at the tiny beasts below them. Infighting broke out amongst the creatures, and chaos reigned. As of yet, there had been no action from the enemies in the valley to lead an attack up the sides of the valley.

 The archers continued to fire, their steel-tipped arrows a rain of metal death. The screams of thousands of dying humanoids raised to the sky, and it filled Nalia with a strange revulsion… slaughter on such a scale shook her to the core, and it pained her that she was commanding it. Even if they were only evil beasts, it made her shudder to see so much death in one place.

 Kelemvor's realm would be crowded tonight.

 Standing, Nalia raised her staff into the air, and a chorus of cheers sounded around her. The shouts of adoration from her troops made her blood tingle, and it dispelled the nausea that she felt because of the death. Shouting at the top of her voice, and summoning a contingency, she bellowed, her clear voice echoing throughout the valley, "Knights, charge! Charge, for the empire and the Council!"

 But the cry that reached her ears was not a cry for the Council. "Nalia!" the legions cried as they charged into the valley of death. "Nalia!" The pounding surrounded her. "Nalia!" Chanting spells, she unleashed fireballs, death spells, explosions of gas, sending the enemy into fits of terror as they strove to escape the rain of death from the powerful archmage who had killed so many of their number.

 "Nalia!"

 A multitude of warriors crying out a single name! Nalia moved out of the undergrowth, mounted her horse, and rode with the knights and charging infantry, into the chaotic din of battle and clashing beasts.

 "For Amn!"

 Her voice, augmented still her spell, split through the air once again, and cheers rang again, as hooves pounded the earth into dust, riding the winds of slaughter, the warriors of the Coinland drawing closer and closer to battle, lances gleaming with foreboding, swords raised to catch the sunlight, armour glimmering dully.

 And with a crash like a splitting thunderclap, the warriors of Amn struck the shuddering lines of the ogre magi's army, voices still uplifted to the sky, voices crying out for vengeance, for the final fulfilment of the war which had slaughtered thousands of their comrades, and countless peasants… innocents caught by the throes of war.

 Nalia staff shone a brilliant blue and yellow, the swans on the illithium gliding upwards and upwards, streaks of magical light. On her brow, the Circlet of Netheril started to glow gold, and her mage robes shone with a blinding blue light. The strength of her magic surrounded her, and Nalia urged her horse forward.

 A shouted spell and the enemy were blasted from her path by a concussive blast of air. Another spell and a lightning bolt tore through a rank of orcs. Fire plunged from her fingertips, clearing a path for the knights behind her. Blasts of pure magic turned blood into unyielding ice, and orcs shrieked in pain.

 Gripping her staff in both hands, and trusting her mount to guide her true, Nalia stood up in the stirrups, and pulled from within her all her strength. She flung her hand forward, freeing it from the staff, and multiple blasts of purple light span forward, striking a hill giant repeatedly. Gesturing again, she sent shards of ice, fire and lightning, a lethal combination, towards the beast again, and watched it plummet to the ground.

 Something grazed against her arm, but the magical protections of her mage robes turned the blow aside, and, barely pausing, she hit the small kobold who had dared attack her with her staff. Magical energy flashed, and it burned into ash within a few seconds.

 Looking around, she saw the forces under her command fighting nearly everywhere within the valley. Fighting- and winning! She grasped her reins, and turned her horse to the right, aiming for the centre, where she knew the two ogre magi, Sythillis and Cyrvisnea would be, protected by their steel legion of ogres, the best of all the tribes.

 But she paused, dumbfounded.

 They were not there.

 Their banner, the bloody skull gripped by an iron hand, was not there. Her face paled, as her intelligent mind grasped what had just occurred… what she had led the army into. Here in the valley, her army was as vulnerable to attack as the enemy had been… and they could easily afford to spend a hundred thousand men… she could not.

 "By Mystra and Kathryn, _no._"

 It was a trap. A deadly, lethal trap. 

 Shrieking, for her spell to augment her voice had failed ages ago, she cried, "Soldiers, to me! To me! It is a trap! A trap! To me! To me! Fall back! By the _gods, _listen! _To me! To me!"_ Her voice degenerated into pitiful sobs. If the army did not escape in time, they would all be killed.

 "_To me, warriors of the Coinland, to me!_"

 But the fighters continued in their butchering of the army, the captains too busy directing the troops to notice that the leaders of this evil empire were not present on the battlefield… to notice that above them, in the undergrowth they had used for cover, a _second _army led by ogres were standing… that they were nocking arrows to their bows, that they were drawing their bows back… sighting… and loosing.

 A sigh of arrows whipping through the air, and then ear-splitting screams as Nalia's warriors fell. Swallowing, lost, not knowing what to do, Nalia summoned an immunity to weapons around her form, and sent a magic missile spell into the air. A few knights noticed the magic, and turned to see Nalia. 

 "To me!"

 And this time, some obeyed. They hacked through the surviving enemy, and gathered around her, desperate and looking at her for a miracle. But this was one trap which Nalia could not get them out of… not unless…

 Not unless she was willing to sacrifice all to save them.

 She turned, looking for Cernick, and, as if responding to her desperate need, he appeared beside her. Offering silent thanks to the gods, she urged, "Cernick, gather those troops that survive. Use shields, protect against these arrows. Is that understood? When you see an opening at the end of the valley, _charge._ Get out. Do not stop, _no matter what happens._"

 Cernick shook his head. "No, my lady."

 Nalia glared at him, her eyes flashing in anger. "It was not a _request, _captain. You are in command. Take the army back to Murann. Imnescar will be lost, no doubt. Tell Imoen that she must begin evacuating the city. Ask her to send messengers to the Council, begging for aid… tell her…"

 And here she stopped.

 There was too much to tell… there was too much that needed to be done… and she would not be around to do it. She bowed her head, and said, "Tell her I will miss her…"

 Cernick nodded. "Aye… my lady."

 "Nalia… my name is Nalia."

 Her captain nodded. "Good luck… Nalia."

 She smiled. "It won't be so bad… it will be like a new adventure… death," but her voice made it clear that she did not believe what she was saying. "Goodbye, Cernick… lead my army well."

 "I will."

 There was nothing else to say. Still the whispering arrows sped towards the small force of Amnish warriors left, but the fighters were the disciplined ones, and they raised their shields to defend. No more fell… but no more needed to fall. The pride of Amn had been decimated this day… 

 Tears obscuring her vision, Nalia held her staff with shaking hands, trying to grasp her courage. Raising her eyes to the sky, she called out, "Kathryn, aid me now. Mystra, bless me with your strength… Helm, give me the courage to do my duty… Tempus… stand with me now. Give my arm the power of your commitment."

 Arrows whipped towards _her _now, but Nalia contemptuously gestured, and a wall of protection sprang up around her. Another one. Bowing her head, Nalia then fixed her eyes on the massive force of enemies guarding the end of the valley.

 "FOR AMN!"

 Her voice cut across the whispering of arrows, and she sped towards the end of the valley. Behind her, she heard the soldiers she had fought with crying out; urging her to stop, but the lady de'Arnise had gone beyond that. All she had now was duty. To her; the enemy seeking to bring about her death were nothing. They were just another duty, another obstacle… they were _nothing. _They were hapless creatures manipulated by those stronger than them… they were pawns.

 She shouted as she rode, and all rational thought became lost as she became one with the cadence of her horses hooves. She roared a spell, and a fireball singed forward. Pointing her staff forward like a lance, she sent bolts of lightning winging towards the blockade of hobgoblins, ogres and giants. Flinging dust of crumbled diamond forward, she sent a force of primal death shattering through the front ranks.

 There was not much space between them now.

 A quick incantation and her skin became as hard as stone. Another incantation and she surrounded herself and her horse with a wall of pure flame, blue _and _orange. With a pinching gesture, she called a finger of death, and snuffed out the life of a giant. 

 It toppled, and the shockwaves rattled her teeth.

 She next targeted an ogre wearing solid illithium armour. Priceless. Whoever he was, this ogre was important. Globules of acid melted towards him, searing grass, burning through hobgoblins, until it surrounded him.

 But his armour ignored the acid.

 Narrowing her eyes, and trying to block out the weariness, Nalia clenched her fist, uttering a vile spell, and she watched as he started writhing, his windpipe crushed by the force of her necromantic magic, the magic she hated using the most.

 Another death spell and she felt the taint it left in her bloodstream, as the grunting groans of the dying reached her ears. And then- _crash –_she was in the fray! Swinging swords! Bared teeth! Claws! Clubs! Maces! Daggers, knives, cloven feet! The braying and bellowing! The blood!

 Her staff swung again and again, its flames striking and flinging any enemy away from her. She tried to move her horse forward, but it could not get past, so great was the press of the enemy. A spear went through its chest, and she felt its buckles as its life drained away. With a cry, Nalia leapt from the horse, and into the dark, dim, shadowy press of battle.

 She fell to the floor, and immediately the enemy leapt on her, weapons shattering against her stone skin, but that stone skin was starting to crumble… and as it started to crumble, and Nalia tried to utter a replacement, her words muddled…

 How much easier would it be just to let them kill her… to go on to paradise with Kathryn, to leave Imoen and the rest to deal with this… to let the Council deal with their lives… to let this scourge of evil claim the Coinland. For none of those in power _cared. _They had sent sixty _thousand _of their best fighters into a campaign, just to remove _one _troublesome wizardess…

 Yes… she would just lie here… just… lie… here…

_ A vision blocked out the image of the battlefield, and she saw a woman clutching a babe to her chest, as orcs smashed into her house. It smiled, a feral smile, and it pulled the baby from her, dashing its brains out on a bedstead. The woman screamed, but next minute, the orc was on her again, mounting her like an animal, roaring and spasming… the woman screamed, and tried to fight, but she could not. The orc was too powerful, too strong… the orc stood, leaving the woman a huddled wreck. And, having finished with her, he broke her neck…_

_ Another vision- a boy, trembling, holding a toy bow, loosing a shaky arrow towards a giant that had just crushed the body of his father, sending bones and blood across the farm. He could have run, but he chose to stand and fight… the arrow bounced off the giant's thick skin, and, enraged the giant raised his club to strike at the impudent midget that had dared raise a weapon against him…_

_ Another- a wizard, cowled and robed in black, sent magic leaping from man to woman, to woman to man… chain lightning, tearing through the crowds of Athkatla, the capitol of the Coinland… pikemen in the imperial colours stood against ogre hordes, but died as magic tore them into pieces…_

_ And faced by that, Nalia found her duty once again, and _screamed!

 Her magic didn't even take the form of a spell, so strong was her sense of fury. A blast of energy from around her knocked the enemy away from her, sending them flying into the air. Standing to her feet, holding her staff, she summoned another stone skin, and hobbled, her leg limp and unresponsive, forward.

 She had little energy, but that energy would have to do. All she had to do was weaken them a little further, and then the army could escape… the army could send word to Imoen that it had been decimated… the Council could send another army… the war could still be won… the baby did not have to die… the boy did not have to stand alone, the wizard would not be allowed to kill hundreds…

 Whips of pure magic span from her hand, sending enemies into the air, bursting into flames. They shrieked and shrieked, but not one came within two metres of her. Although she had little energy, Nalia found that she didn't care. She was gripped by something beyond _power… _she was gripped by _duty._

 Her eyes shone golden, and the enemy fled from her in terror, as they were seized by her mad, uncontrollable magic. It tore into them, ravenously, like a beast unleashed from control. A gesture and beads of energy flung from her eyes. Another gesture and massive claws of steel replaced her nails. She tore the head of an ogre with her bare hands.

 A massive blast of air knocked the last few ogres out of her way… and she fell to her knees. She was _through_. She had blasted through the lines! Her vision was darkening, for such was her tiredness. She shot into the air a set of magic missiles, and she heard the remnants of her army charging… 

 And across her vision, stood a massive ogre, carrying an immense two-handed sword. It touched her cheek with the cold steel, softly, like a lover's caress, and Nalia shook her head… gods, _no! _Not this… not… this… not… _now…_

 A slap sent her to the floor, and she winked into blackness… but pain pulled her out. The ogre was tearing at her robes, pulling them off roughly, leaving her lying naked on the floor, groaning and shuddering. And just as she thought he would succeed in his dark desires, another massive shape ploughed into him.

 She would have laughed, if she had the strength. 

 They were _fighting _over her… her weak knees tried to get her to stand… but they would not. Somebody must have noticed her feeble attempt, for in a few seconds, she felt hot, sticky pain surge in her back… she groaned… she didn't have the energy to scream, though the pain wasn't anything less.

 Another stab, this time in her stomach, and this time she did scream, as the acid poured into the muscle of her abdomen… she watched, pitifully and helplessly, as blood leaked through her fingers. She started to cry.

 Pain flashed again, though now she was half out of the world anyway, so she didn't care. By the time the fourth, and fifth, and sixth stab came… Nalia was already on her way to the realm of Kelemvor… by the time her head was chopped from her body, she had lost all sense of the mortal plains… forever…

 __

 ****


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

**_Hiya_****_._****_ Hopefully, this chapter will be better than the last one, which I don't get the impression people liked. In answer to a few points: Nalia was killed by ogres and hobgoblins, because in my opinion, a sword held by a hobgoblin, or a sword held by a baatezu can kill the same person. If a gibberling caught Elminster napping, and cut his throat, Elminster would die. He couldn't say: wait a minute, I'm level forty! Die, gibberling! Nope. He would die. I would hope that this story isn't an insult to BG fans everywhere, but if it is, then it will be because BG fans view these things in terms of levels, specific monsters and limitations… and this story is not like that. If Nalia is surrounded by five thousand hobgoblins, and there are two hundred thousand ogres all around the valley, then no amount of being level 40 is going to save. Well, enjoy! ~G_**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Is Death Final?**

_Kathryn's Realm, 1 Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

 "No!"

 Kathryn's shriek of raw pain and loss tore through her marbled halls, and the Faithful who served her cringed as harp strings snapped and the lulling melodies became distorted by an awful din… Gorion, resplendent in the soft pink robes, clapped his hands to his ears, and then stared at the goddess, who now bore silver tears that streaked down her cheek.

 "What is it, my daughter?"

 The Goddess of All Song looked at him, and said, "It is Nalia… she is… dead…"

 Viconia looked up, and whispered. "Nalia? By the gods… that… that is certainly… certainly a turn for the… the… worse…"

 Khalid sighed. "V- Viconia, just a- admit that y- you love her… it'll be a lot easier… a l- lot easier… y- you were good friends… it is okay to mourn, and show weakness…" He turned to face Kathryn. "I am sorry, Kathryn… I did not know this Nalia, but I know that her loss will be hurting you greatly…"

 She nodded. "Yes… yes it will, but it will hurt not only me, but… all of Amn, and my Church, the stability of the Sword Coast. _Everything _hinged on Nalia, _everything. _She was binding everything together, she held the loyalty and love of thousands, she was powerful, influential, and the ogre magi feared her… and now what? What am I meant to do now that she is lost to me?"

 A tear touched the floor, and all around them, echoing throughout the heavens, came a single note of such loss and sadness, that it seemed for a moment that the stars themselves shivered with sorrow…

 And while Kathryn wept, Gorion held her close, whispering words of comfort in her ear… her servants throughout her realm lifted their voices in song, their harps in tune… and in the midst of this song-filled mourning, there was a gleaming flash of blue light, and Mystra stood before the throne of All Song.

 "Kathryn… I… I have felt the death of Nalia this day…"

 Kathryn nodded. "I know. Lady Mystra, we are _defeated. _Amn will fall, my Church will shatter, and Cyric's desires will be made corporeal… you talk now to a dying goddess… are you sure you wish to associate yourself with me?"

 Mystra sighed. "Of course I do… but please, Kathryn, let me finish… Nalia has died, and her soul has appeared in the Fugue Plain… but the gods are in an uproar… _she is refusing to die… she is refusing to leave Amn to the hordes…_"

*

 Nalia shrieked, and from her fingers, a massive blast of ice and lightning churned into the demons that threatened her, that stopped her from walking further forward into the Realms of the Dead. Above her, she saw the gods watching, their power something incomprehensible, yet the threat of instant annihilation did not discourage Nalia, and she lashed out again, at a baatezu, sending him flying from her in a blast of solid air.

 Around her, the Faithful of the gods were screaming, yet most were just standing watching the display of power from this archmage. With a cry, Nalia roared: "Kelemvor! Lord of the Dead! Come before me now! I _refuse _to die! I _refuse _to give into death! Send me back! Send me _back, _you _bastard_!"

 There was a shivering sigh, and a soft muted glow of pink appeared beside Nalia. She felt comforting arms around her, and she looked into the eyes of Kathryn, her friend and goddess… alongside Kathryn stood Mystra, watching her with pride.

 But then there was a whipping wind that smelt musty, like the air from a great crypt, and before her, with his silver mask, stood Kelemvor, standing perfectly still, looking at Nalia.

 "_Who do you think you are, to command me, Nalia de'Arnise? You are not alive anymore, you are no longer corporeal, you have no power at all, other than the power that your goddess gives you… why should you gain special treatment, of all the souls within the Fugue Plain?"_

His voice was laced with anger, and Nalia took a step back. "I have things yet to do, my lord Kelemvor. Amn, my nation, lies in chaos and disarray, and such chaos will spread throughout the Sword Coast, and to the rest of Faerun. In Maztica, the Helmite capitols will dissolve, as the knights are called back to Athkatla. The revolts of Yamash will continue… the slaughter of innocents will pile up, _and the Lord of the Dead's realm will cry out with the despair of newborn babes, and the shrieks of dying women, raped by the dark desires of invaders. _The world will live in a perpetual state of war, for remove one nation of balance, and replace it will a powerful nation of evil, and that evil will spread, _like a vile cancer._ Baldur's Gate will fall, its towers toppling in smoke and flame. Waterdeep will crash into the sea, trashed by the sahuagin, and the drow will rise from their pits to claim the dark places of the earth once more… the groves of Suldanesslar will burn, and the elves will cry out to their gods as they turn their swords against the humans who are enslaved to evil's will… and in the centre of it all, _you_ will stand, _you _will stand, sending the babies to Hell to be tormented by demons, babies who are Faithless because they cannot serve a god… the False will be so numerous that Hell itself will not be able to contain them, and all across the cosmos, a great war will rage between the flagging gods of good, and the evil gods whose hunger has grown great from the slaughter… and then your portfolio will be _stripped _from you, Kelemvor, because the universe will have no place for Balance, no place for a god like you! And then, Cyric will gain control of your realm once again, and no-one anywhere will know peace! If I am forced to die, then all this will come to pass, for the realm of Amn cannot stand without me!"

 Kelemvor remained standing silently, and said, "I may not break the rules of the universe, set by Lord Ao himself, Nalia… you know this… Kathryn will have told you… your body has been shattered. Your head rides on a pike towards Murann, and your body lies in the trampled mud of the valley… how am I to raise you from the dead now?"

 Nalia spoke with clear scorn. "For a god, anything is possible."

 The Lord of the Dead shook his head. "No, Nalia, you will remain here. You may cry out to your mistress, who will take you to her realm, where you may exist forever in harmony and music, but _you may not rise again._ Your life is over."

 "_No!"_

Fire shot from her fingers, towards Kelemvor, but immediately, Kathryn was standing between them both, and she absorbed the magic with a grunt. Kelemvor's eyes narrowed, and he pushed Kathryn out of the way: "You want to _attack _me, Nalia? _Then go ahead! Defeat me if you wish!"_

And he rose to twice her height… three times her height… four times her height… he continued to rise, until his height was so great that her mind boggled at the concept. His eyes fixed upon her, he bellowed, his wrath crackling throughout the plains: "_Kill me, Nalia de'Arnise, and see what happens to the Balance! Kill me if you can!"_

But into the midst of his rage, Mystra whispered, "Kelemvor… for the love we once had for each other as mortals… _please, _do this thing… you know what she says is true. It may not happen as quickly as she said, or _solely _because she has died, but it _will happen, _over time… are you going to stand up and say you shattered the Balance because you refused one request?"

 Kelemvor shrank to a normal height, and his voice seemed sad. "I have laws, Mystra, just as magic has rules… I cannot restore her to life. She is irrevocably dead… if I could restore her to life, then I could restore anyone…"  
 Mystra cracked. "That is not true, and you know it. Nalia is no ordinary wizard! She has the power of a long line flowing through her veins. You are right: no other mortal could be resurrected, but Nalia _is not _a normal mortal."

 "No, Mystra."

 The Goddess of Magic sighed, and her eyes glistened with sadness… "Then our love has truly shattered, Kelemvor… where once there was still something there… there is now _nothing…_ Cyric will certainly drink his fill tonight…"

 Nalia watched all this. "Lord Kelemvor, is it a sacrifice you desire?"

 Kelemvor said, "There is no sacrifice you can make that will negate a violation of the Balance, Nalia…"

 But Nalia knew there was. She looked at Kathryn, and then bowed her head… she _had _to do it… she had to live again, so that in the future, others would pray to Kathryn, that others would be able to live in her marble halls, playing music and spending eternity in joy… and for that, Nalia needed to give something… she had given her life… what else could she give?

 And then, like an itch, the thought came to her. With a quiet, sad little voice, she murmured… "I will give you my afterlife… I will serve eternity in the halls of Hell, to be tortured so that I scream forever, till the stars flicker and die, till the gods lie forgotten, and then for even longer… I will exist in pain, horror and torture, so that others may experience the joy of peace within my nation."

 Kelemvor looked at her, his eyes wide. "You would do this? For a corrupt nation, led by men who send you to die? For _them, _you would give up your eternity?"

 Nalia looked at Kathryn, who was crying again now… "Yes, my lord Kelemvor… I would… but not for the Council, for the _people… _for the people of my nation… for music, for magic, for beauty and hope… for _life._"

 "Then so be it… let is be so… let…" His voice broke slightly. "Let Nalia's afterlife be given to the monsters within Hell, so that she may live once more, to save the nation of Amn from destruction… let my blessing be given to this, let my power join with any that wish to help… so that Nalia de'Arnise may defy the laws of the universe."

*

 The powers of many gods crackled across the heavens. Kathryn and Mystra stood on either side of Kelemvor, weaving their powers with his… with them, stood Helm, who recognised Nalia's duty… Tyr, who knew that justice, had to be served… Torm, who had looked in awe of her bravery… Ilmater, who knew that her suffering would match that of his worshippers… Lathander stood with them, hoping that a new beginning could rise from this endeavour… Oghma lent his power, to preserve the learning and sanctity of Candlekeep, which might fall if chaos came to the Sword Coast… Silvanus lent the healing power of nature, holding hands with Chauntea… the two aspects of nature united… with words of magic, the gods called from the mortal realms, the head and body of Nalia… they summoned her spirit, and Nalia felt herself becoming lost with the immense scope of immortal power, as it trapped her soul, and sent it, flickering, into her body… and then with every ounce of their might, they knitted the bones, the sinews, the veins, the cells… they knitted them together.

 Nalia screamed as the pain of her death gripped her once again, but then that pain faded, as the gods _reversed time _around her body… taking away the wounds… and then they started the heart pumping… pumping… pumping…

 With a tortured, agonised gasp, Nalia breathed… and then faded into blackness… breathed… and woke up, lying in the mud, surrounded by the dead bodies of the Amnish legions and ogre hordes…

 The stars flickered strangely bright in the night sky… and Nalia just lay there and cried… she had given everything to return her… _everything… _and now that she had returned, she knew just what she had lost.

 She knew exactly what she had lost, and she sat their, with the hot tears streaming down her face… brushing across her pale skin like the brushing of delicate fingers… and above her, a thunderstorm broke, and rain melted with the tears, lashing down upon the floor with immense force… but Nalia did not feel it, she didn't feel the cold, or the wetness…

 Nalia de'Arnise had defied the gods… she had defied the laws of the universe itself… Nalia de'Arnise _lived _once again… and she had never felt worse. She shrieked at the top of her voice, and her anguish rose even unto the heavens…

 And Kathryn wept…


	30. Chapter Thirty

**_And now we hear from Anomen and Imoen… hurrah! Please review. I love getting them! ~G_**

**Chapter Thirty: Murann**

_Governor's Palace in Murann, 1 Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

 The council chamber was opulent, to say the least. Imoen- by now, far grown up from Candlekeep with its austere decorations and dour monks- was used to the grandeur of the ruling class. The palace of Gromnir, in Saradush, had been richly decorated… Athkatla's various estates were magnificent… Waterdeep's palaces were beautiful… yet despite this, Imoen found that she missed the decorations of Candlekeep, the simplicity of ordered chaos, if there was such a thing…

 The way that the books seemed to be all over the place, yet the way that the monks knew where each book was. The way the bells rang regularly at a set time yet the way they rang sometimes in one tune, and sometimes in another. There was none of that, here… everything was silk, and gold, and jewels… 

 Apheyr had said something to her, last month, about this place being a thin veneer over a cesspool of corruption. Sometimes, the insight of the air genasi surprised her. More often, it made her smile, as inside her, a warm feeling sprang.

 Three months ago, it had annoyed her. Imoen, in love? 

 But now, she had grown comfortably into it… not surprisingly, when it was apparent she had met her match in Apheyr. Imoen's skills in various departments were fabled… in Candlekeep, she had a few novices wrapped around her little finger, and often learned new things from Calimshite youths passing through the monastery.

 Kathryn had been similar to Imoen, acting flirtatiously, and leading boys on… but the difference between the two sisters had been that Imoen acted on it… and so Imoen had grown up viewing men as easy to manipulate. She loved them, but never had she found herself in love…

 Apheyr… 

 Perhaps it was because he was so much _more _than a man… the air genasi held himself with such grace… his intelligence was cutting, his wit sharp… and the way he moved… he was handsome to the point of being beautiful, he was kind and…

 Imoen sighed, and then she had to catch herself.

 _Sighing? Imoen of Candlekeep, daughter of Bhaal, sighing over a man?!_

Forcing herself away from thoughts of her lover, she returned to the present, and the preparations for a siege against the jewel of the south… Murann. In the large room, decorated with red silk, gold tables and precious gems winking from nearly everywhere, sat Fadarn Temlinski, the Governor of Murann, with the leaders of local guilds, the city watch, and the naval commander. At present, the captain of the militia was reporting to the governor, explaining about scouting patrols… scouting patrols that wouldn't have existed had Imoen not come here.

 Three months ago, she had found a city woefully unprepared to defend itself against a small force of kobolds, let alone a horde of vicious enemies led by powerful ogre magi. But gradually, Imoen and the Companions, who numbered about one hundred men and women, had exerted pressure, and the governor had ordered the fighting men to begin training.

 And the change had been incredible. 

 The fat, overpaid guards of Murann, who were more designed for ceremonial parades than a lengthily campaign, had transformed into lean, skilled legionnaires of Amn, ready to stand, fight and die for their country… or at least, stand and fight for a while. Imoen was too much of a cynic to believe that they had changed so completely overnight.

 Murann's walls had been improved. Hoardings would allow simple citizens, with no training, to participate in the defence, by pouring burning oil onto attackers through small holes. Ballistae had been built, as had catapults, and the machines were set on the inner walls, as well as the outer walls.

 The dock wall had been reinforced, and the gates strengthened. Horses had been brought from the plains and fields, and kept in the inner city, in massive stables. Warehouses underground were packed with grain, fruit, meat, and all had been protected with anti-decay spells cast by Imoen. Water was made immune to poison, magical warding had been placed on both walls… a general muster had been proclaimed, and the city militia now numbered ten thousand men. Ten thousand civilians with armour and ten thousand trained legionnaires. Hopefully they would be enough to protect the city long enough for the Council to send aid…

 But the council could never send aid if the sea was not in their control, and at this point, it wasn't. Black Alaric, the pirate king of the Sword Coast, was patrolling the sea around the city with his fleet of twenty ships, ready to pick off ships leaving the harbour. At the moment, it was not too important, but if the ogre empire attacked, then a strike by the pirates against the docks could prove lethal to Murann.

 So, instead of playing it safe, and going along with listening to the scout report, Imoen stood, and asked a simple, direct question: "Governor, when are you going to send your fleet against the pirates? They are a threat to the defence of this city."

 The governor sighed. It seemed to Imoen at least, that every day was a constant battle with this man, who refused to see any danger to his city, refused to acknowledge anything that would devastate profits, and detract from his palace. Imoen refused to acknowledge that they could survive with the city as it was, and that was the source of their conflict.

 "Lady Imoen," he began, he arms raised placatingly. "You must understand… the ships are there to evacuate civilians from the city, in the event that the army of Lady Nalia is defeated… if we send the fleet against the pirates, then… I do not know how the innocents would escape."

 She rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that bollocks, governor. You have eighty ships in your harbour. Outfit them properly for war, and send them against the pirates. Then you can have a constant supply of food, and this city will never fall…"

 Temlinski's eyes bulged. "Eighty ships? You are mistaken. The city has only twenty ships… the other sixty belong to the guilds, and I have promised them that their profits will not be hampered by this small skirmish…"

 Imoen's impatience snapped. "_Small skirmish? _Are you kidding? Nalia has been fighting for three _months, _with the finest men from Eshpurta! If the elite of Amn's armies cannot wrap this conflict up in three months, then it is a lot more than a simple _skirmish._ We are in a war, Fedarn! A war that will completely destroy Murann, if you do not act quickly or decisively enough! To the ninth hell with the guilds and their profits. They have to make sacrifices, or they will all be strung up on the burning ruins of this city while orcs feast on their food, and bedeck themselves with their jewels!"

 Sighing, the governor said, "I cannot use their ships. To do so would be a complete violation of everything I have promised… a complete violation… my lady, sit down, and stop making such noise… I admire what you have done for the city, but as of yet, I have seen nothing that warrants you to question my authority."

 Imoen said, "I _order _you to send the fleet against the pirates."

 Temlinski laughed. "I am governor of Murann. What authority do you have that supersedes mine?"

 She resisted the urge to growl. "Nalia has named me her second in command. The Council has given her the authority to command the south against the ogre empire… as her second in command, and her representative here, I have the authority to command you to-"

 Imoen gasped for a moment, and doubled over, clutching her head. Stumbling, she fell to the floor… in her mind, the rage and sadness of Kathryn was echoed again and again, and she struggled to breath… what had happened to make her feel this way? Temlinski watched her, with his eyebrow raised, and Imoen forced herself to stand, despite the screams of the goddess that reverberated within her mind…

 "You were saying, my lady?"

 Imoen frowned, her thoughts elsewhere. "Yes… because of the Lady Nalia appointing me as her representative here, I have the authority, and I _command _you to use the ships in your harbour against the pirate fleet."

 Temlinski shook his head. "No. I am sorry, but I cannot accept that. I see no threat to my security, or the security of this city, and the Council's dictate states quite surely, that if there is no immediate threat any longer, Nalia's powers are revoked immediately. I see no threat while Nalia is out, fighting against the so-called hordes…"

 She shook her head, not believing what she was hearing. "Are you _serious_? You idiot! You complete bastard! You blind fool! There is an army out there, three times the size of anything Amn could muster, led by cunning, powerful ogre magi, who are just _waiting _to feast upon the women of this city! You have the opportunity to stop their ally, and you are refusing to do it! When you die in pain and horror, Fedarn, I will offer a prayer that you go to hell for what you are doing here."

 And with that, she stormed out.

*

 "Apheyr senses you are annoyed, love of his heart."

 Imoen sighed. "Yes, I am. By the nine bloody hells, that man is stupid. Is it a requirement of the ruling class in this damned country, to ignore everything that is placed in front of you until it is too late to do anything to stop it?"

 "He does not understand what he is doing, Apheyr believes. Governor Temlinski is misguided… but, Imoen, Apheyr has just had a plan… the fleet is forbidden to you, but what if you use your magic to defeat the pirates… Apheyr would help you… the two of us could crush those pirates like worms of Sigil…"

 Imoen sighed. "I suppose we'll have to." She looked into his eyes, kissed him once, softly, on the lips, and then said, "Gods, I hate this city."

*

 Anomen shivered.

 His old love, Kathryn, was screaming in the depths of his being, and within her screams was a sense of loss so great, that tears formed in his eyes. It must be lonely, to be in the cosmos, unable to confide in anyone but dead worshippers… a prickling sensation caused Anomen to momentarily lose his balance… but he continued on.

 Whatever had happened, it did not matter. He had to move. If Kathryn was shrieking in pain about something, then it meant that the south, and Nalia and Imoen, were in great danger… which meant that today, he had to get the Council to agree to send aid to her.

 Keldorn was watching him, his gaze weary. "Did you feel it to, Anomen?"

 "Yes, my friend… what do you think it was?"

 The old paladin sighed. "I don't know… but to make a goddess feel pain and sadness like that… it must be something terrible, and it can't be good for us… we must make this argument with the Council are most potent, Anomen… or Nalia could end up dead."

 Anomen nodded. "I know. Keldorn, you tell the men to make ready to ride. Say we are leaving Athkatla, whether the Council allow it, or not… tell them to move quickly, and assemble in the Gate District… meet me at my estates when you are done… I will tell you what the Council has decided..."

 Keldorn smiled. "Good luck, my friend."

 An hour later, Anomen stood in front of the Council, who had abandoned the curtain, and now wore silver face masks. The Prelate of the Order was struck by an uncanny resemblance to the Lord of Death, Kelemvor…

 What was his obsession with death?

 He supposed it was the feeling that with every moment they wasted, more men died in the south, on bloodied battlefields, fighting against the warriors of evil causes… alone, and abandoned by their rulers.

 One Council member, a man, spoke, "Prelate Delryn… welcome to our presence… yet again… I suppose you have come to request we send more aid to the incompetent de'Arnise? Believe me, our minds have not changed. She will not receive any more aid."

 There was a vindictive note in his voice when he said that. 

 "No, she will not… but we cannot be concerned with the south any longer. Anomen, there is an uprising in Amnwater… a local lord has allied himself with Cyricists from the Gate, and has cut off trade passing to us. We believe he has a force of twenty thousand infantry and hobgoblins… to dispose of this threat, we are sending your knights, and ten thousand pikemen… return here once you have taken care of this threat… on no condition, are you to go south to de'Arnise, _do you understand?_"

 Anomen bowed, stiff. "Yes."

*

 A few hours later, Anomen led the ten thousand pikemen to the ships in the harbour. Keldorn stood beside him, and said, "You will have to get out of Athkatla quickly, Anomen… the Council will not accept this rebellion…"

 Anomen shrugged. "Saving the south is rebellion? No, Keldorn… they will not risk touching me during a war. It could spark a rebellion. The name Delryn, and the Order, has too much influence here… now, Keldorn, sail south swiftly… do not dock at Murann, according to the latest missive from Imoen, Black Alaric has a fleet of pirates stationed there… dock on a beach about thirty miles north, and move south to reinforce the city… find out how things lie, and then you must decide what to do yourself."

 Keldorn nodded. "Yes, Prelate."

 Anomen breathed out. It felt good to disobey the Council.

*

 At sunset, Anomen led ten thousand knights of the Order east to Amnwater… Keldorn sailed with the pikemen, who believed that the scroll he held was a set of orders from the Council, south. And Imoen and Apheyr, against the wishes of the governor, attacked the pirates of the Nelanther Isles, unleashing the power of fire against the ships… and at night, as the three Companions lay down, they sensed a great release of power in the skies above them, and, for a moment, the stars flickered strangely…

 And in the darkness, the surviving legions of Amn fled towards the safe haven of Murann, and the ogre magi Sythillis, and his wife Cyrvrisnea, smiled as their army burned what was left of Imnescar to the ground, bellowing prayers to the dark gods as they did so.

 That night, the screams reached to the heavens.


	31. Chapter Thirty One

**Chapter Thirty One: Remnants**

_Murann, 1 Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

 As the smoke from the burning ships of Nelanther rose to obscure and dirty the morning sun, Imoen and Apheyr walked together towards the palace of the governor, both weary yet satisfied. The harbour was free from the fleet… the city could now be considered ready for the siege that would eventually plague it.

 Yet as they walked up the hill towards the palace, they heard shouts from commanders of the garrison, proclaiming in dark tones that the army of Amn had returned to Murann… defeated. Imoen exchanged a look with Apheyr, and paled. Wasting no time, Imoen incanted a teleportation spell, and appeared, a soft glimmer of blue light around her form and Apheyr's in front of the gates…

 And her heart fell.

 It was a bedraggled force of fewer than five thousand men, all riding on horses, but most of those horses lame and weary. Armour was hanging from them in strips, mud and blood clung to them like a second skin, banners were torn, swords were broken… and their eyes… their eyes were dead, like men who had seen the horrors of hell and had lost their souls because of it…

 Leading them was not Nalia, but Cernick, the loyal captain of the keep, who had been elevated to the leadership of this force… but where was Nalia? Where was her friend? With no words offered, Apheyr put his arm around her, and pulled her close.

 "Apheyr is here for you, archmage Imoen, no matter what the news."

 Imoen nodded, and strode towards the slow-moving army. Cernick met her gaze, and abruptly tears appeared in his eyes. She shook her head… no… she wouldn't believe it… she _couldn't _believe it…

 "Cernick… where is Nalia?"

 The captain bowed his head, unable to look at her. "Dead, milady… she fell before the might of the empire, as she tried to shatter a way through the ranks of the enemy to save us… she succeeded, but lost her life… she will be remembered as a hero of Amn."

 Apheyr frowned. "Apheyr believes that perhaps you could resurrect her? Is that not common occurrence with you Primes?"

 Cernick sighed, and did not look at Imoen. "They… they cut off her head, and thrust it on a pike, to proclaim to our soldiers that there is no hope, that there is no chance of victory against Sythillis and his dark lover… that… that we are doomed."

 Imoen felt cold… unable to speak, she allowed Apheyr to murmur a few words, transporting them into their private chambers in the palace… hugging herself, Imoen felt tears streaming down her cheek now she was away from the public eye.

 "Apheyr… that is three of my friends now, three of the women I considered closest to me… me and Nalia were almost like _sisters, _and now it has all be torn from me, torn so cruelly and without concern… _I hate this damned city!"_

And as she shrieked, with a mixture of pure fury and absolute grief, a lance of fire sprayed from her fingers, setting fire to a tapestry. Apheyr looked at it once, walked over to it, and breathed out… his breath unleashed the iciness of the winter wind, and put out the fire.

 Imoen saw this, and fell into a seat, looking at him, but not really seeing him.

 "Dead…"

*

 "Dead, because you and those like you were too cowardly, too blind to see! And now, the Sythillisian Empire will advance, and place this city under siege! And you are not prepared, because you were too concerned about _profits _to prepare!"

 Governor Temlinski bowed his head… for the first time seeming afraid. "We have not got long then, my lady… we must… we must evacuate the city. Send those too old, young, or weak to defend themselves north, to Athkatla… I will… I will send emissaries with them, to crave aid from the Council… I… I am so sorry for your loss, my lady Imoen."

 And it was that, more than anything else, that drove the anger from Imoen. For the first time she appreciated that perhaps Temlinski failed to acknowledge the arrival of the ogre threat because he knew that to do so would end the peace that he had created her, that if he acted first then the guilds would react badly, perhaps even assassinating him… for in Amn, the guilds and merchants held the true power.

 "Governor Temlinski… we still have a chance. We can hold this city for a long time… evacuate the city, and place the men on full alert. Send ships to the nearer cities as well, asking them for aid… though I doubt they will send it until the Council does… and do not lose heart, sir… Nalia may have fallen, but I still remain, and I am just as powerful as she is… those scum will pay for what they did… for what they have done, I will make them suffer… I will make their shrieks reach down into the Abyss, so that even the demons may shudder, knowing that the last mortal Child of Bhaal has unleashed her wrath."

 Temlinski paled. "Lady…"

 But that was all Imoen said. The burden had been taken from Nalia, and now it rested on Imoen's shoulders… once again, it was time for a Bhaalspawn to save the nation of Amn, to bring deliverance where all anyone saw was war and slaughter.

*

 The citizens loaded onto the ships in their hundreds, panicked and fear-stricken. They took with them no possessions, only food and water… though there had been few who had protested, desperate as people were to escape the menace of invasion… Imoen watched from the window of the palace, as the sea of citizenry fled onto the small, ever-so fragile ships that represented their only escape from the city… from the _jewel _of the south…

 Even now, scout patrols were reporting that the ogre magi-led hordes were moving west towards Murann, having burned and sacked Imnescar, and set up secure garrisons south of Trademeet… Imoen was grateful that they had not yet moved against that small town… if they did so, then their friends there were at risk, and Imoen did not want to see more of her friends die… not before she herself did, anyway…

 Amongst the warriors heading towards the walls, walked the hundred or so Companions, mages, druids, priests and other skilled users of magic, and a few famous fighters, sent to disperse themselves near the front line, to offer their vaunted powers to strengthen individual units of soldiers…

 It had been Imoen's plan, to have the army split up into small units, almost like adventuring parties. They would learn how the others acted, co-ordinate themselves in defeating the enemy, and loyalties would be formed that would push them further in life-threatening circumstances. And with these small parties would be a Companion, whose powers were considerable indeed.

 "My lady, you requested my presence?"

 Imoen turned, and saw Jaheira standing a few feet behind her. She raised her eyebrow, and said, "Jaheira… please, do not call me that. You are the one who has taught me so much… you… and Khalid…"

 The woman did not bat an eyelid, not even to say thank you. Jaheira hated flattery, and she saw this as flattery. "What is it you want, Imoen? You have a specific quest, or you would not have called me here… what is it?"

  The youthful archmage gave a hesitant smile, but not even Imoen's cheer could prevail when so many had died, when there was still so much more to do. "I want you to travel to Suldanessllar… it is only a few miles southeast… get there quickly, and ask Ellesime for aid, tell her that Amn requires her aid… you know how to deal with elves, Jaheira."

 "Indeed… very well, Imoen… I will do this…"

 And she turned, and strode out of the room, her eyes glinting with determination.

 Imoen sighed. There were very few allies left… soon, all that would remain would be the battle… and she doubted anyone of them would survive without help… without help on a divine level… it would take that, she sighed, to get the Council to act.

*

 Into the night, the ships left Murann, the globes of light on each of them seeming like tiny faeries floating away into a vast black Abyss, to be swallowed up by infinity… to be forgotten by reality… Imoen still watched from her window, her heart pounding, tears falling from her eyes, a sense of despair and defeat rising within her… 

 In her mind, she remembered Candlekeep, she remembered Baldur's Gate, the warm embraces with Kathryn, the friendship between Dynaheir, Minsc, Jaheira and Khalid… the way Imoen could sit and look into the campfire, and smile and joke before they went to sleep… back when they had been innocent…

 Then there had been Nalia, Viconia, Anomen and Keldorn… with Kathryn, they had travelled, for a time trying to rescue Imoen from Irenicus, and then trying to defeat him… there had still be time, even then however, for laughter. And then, for the briefest of moments, Imoen had thought she would have peace.

 Wishful thinking. 

 For an archmage of her power, there would never be peace… there would only be the endless clarion calls of war, bidding her to murder and kill, merely to survive. And with that thought, she finally broke down, weeping and shrieking and rocking, wishing that she could be back at Candlekeep with Gorion and his musty tomes… wishing that she could be anywhere but here…

 But then Apheyr knelt beside her, took her in his arms, and kissed her… his cold, icy breath washed out all thoughts of sadness, and what rose in its place was love… he was here for her… he would always be… he would help her through Hell itself.

*

 And as Imoen and Apheyr kissed, and gave themselves to each other before the breaking of the storm, the hordes of the ogre magi trampled across the grass, a many-footed beast of war, iron-shod and merciless, and ahead of them rode a lone figure… a fugitive who rode towards the gleaming city, her tears echoing Imoen's… 

 All that remained for everyone was duty.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

**_Sorry, I don't think this chapter is particularly good, but I have to post it. Please review anyway, thanks! ~G_**

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Siege**

_Murann, 2 Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

 She had teleported herself to Trademeet, knowing that she couldn't have made it to Murann, and that staying anywhere else would have been suicidal. A major part of her thinking had also been to rest for just one night without worrying about sieges and army billets, and for that one night, she had relaxed.

 Coprith had entertained her in his home, and she had taken advantage of the opportunity for a long, hot soak in a soapy bath, and then a near-therapeutic groom by the beauticians of lady Lurraxol. And then, clean and refreshed, Nalia had continued with diplomatic conquests, consolidating the already-friendly mayor into an ally, though that had not been difficult, after all, Nalia's statue stood in the square of his town.

 He had persuaded the merchants of the town to sell their wares to her at half-price, and so, in the early hours of the morning, Nalia mounted a new mare, a dusty bay. He robes had been cleaned, and her magical items, which had been protected by Kathryn while Nalia lay dead, now lay safely where they were meant to, rings on fingers, amulets around her neck, the circlet of Netheril around her brow, the staff de'Arnise held tightly, her magical yellow cloak, like yellow silk but of an impressive, almost silver sheen… the numbers of items she had on her person were incredible…

 And held in her right hand, clutched to her chest, was her spell book, bound in yellow leather, and marked with the blue swan of House de'Arnise. Within those pages were the weak spells she had been taught by Maggie, the witch who had taught her magic on her father's request, the powerful magic learned during her travels, newer spells of her own devising, and rare spells that she had traded vast wealth for… her spell book alone was probably worth more than her estates, and if her items were sold, then Nalia could retire, an extremely rich woman, possibly one of the richest in Amn.

 But money at this moment was nothing.

 Sighing, she pulled up her hood, tightened the clasp to stop it from falling to reveal her face, and then started to nudge her horse forward, towards the gate of Trademeet. She would travel fast, through the ruins of Imnescar, through the moorland, and travel to Murann from the northern hills, hopefully looping round the right flank of the ogre magi army, and reaching the city before the enemy did.

 The gate was in view, when a loud, thunderous cavalcade of hoof beats made her turn. Riding towards her was a patrol of five hundred guards of Trademeet, all mounted on horses? Leading them was Coprith: 

 "Lady Nalia, I give to you half of my men, that you may aid the city of Murann against the invaders. I must keep some to defend this town in the event that you fail, but you must garner some benefit from having accompanying soldiers, I'm sure. My town owes you everything for its very survival, and we here remember that debt… good luck, my lady."

 She nodded. "Thank you, Coprith. This means a lot to me. I will remember your loyalty."

 And then, turning to the soldiers, she said, "We ride hard! Do not attack any creatures you see, we ride straight past them! We have no time to deal with small raiding parties, we _must _reach Murann before the siege makes it impossible to get there… my friends will have powerful anti-teleportation wards placed around the city, so we need to get there soon."

 With that, she cast an improved haste spell on the men around her, and with a shout, led the horsemen south along the pass, ready to turn east towards the city of Murann, upon which the forces of the Sythillisian Empire encroached.

*

 The army moved a great, hideous blot- a cancer upon the earth it trampled. Nalia watched as it moved behind her, and her blood ran cold, realising for the first time just how many beasts there were… two hundred thousand seemed like a sea, or a lake, but a lake of bloodlust and shimmering steel.

 Yet it was not just creatures that marched with the army, but humans as well, mercenaries, wearing chainmail, plate armour, carrying halberds, axes, swords… they were a motley few battalions, but Nalia could tell that they were ready to raze the jewel of the south to the ground, and pillage the wealth of centuries from Murann. 

 But the human mercenaries did not frighten her. What did was the blatant presence of spell-casters amongst the horde. Green-and-black robed Zhentarim, red-robed Thayvians, freelance spell casters… it seemed that there were about a thousand wizards, though Nalia doubted that many of them could even cast a decent magic missile. Still, a thousand wizards meant she would have to move carefully…

 An arrow flew towards the five hundred soldiers, and Nalia, nestled on the hill before the city of Murann, about seven hundred metres from the army. Nalia stared at it, made a single gesture, and watched the arrow burst into flame. Ash fluttered to the ground at her feet, and she sniffed disdainfully.

 Six hundred metres…

 She turned her horse, and signalled the soldiers to begin the advance again.

 Five hundred metres…

 They charged towards Murann, and Nalia's cloak and robes billowed behind her, wings of yellow shining like a candle in a darkened room. Behind her, the enemy were getting closer, and the roars and bellows of fury shook the air and made it crackle with the hatred they felt for her. Nalia could understand why.

 She lived!

 Despite cutting off her head, and trampling her corpse, Nalia de'Arnise lived!

 Crying out, she led the mad gallop towards the city, and the men followed. From the battlements, she could hear thousands of warriors calling her name, for they obviously recognised the yellow wizard, with her gleaming staff. 

 The cries of joy at seeing her alive were a great, whirling crescendo of praise, and Nalia felt glad for it. _This _was what she had sacrificed for, _this _was what she had died for… _this _was what she would fight for, the people of Amn, the warriors of Amn, those who had so little, yet were so important to the country.

 For a split second, she wished she had murdered the Council, those corrupt bastards sitting in their gilded halls while Amn toppled around them… but then she remembered that she had a duty to them, as much as she had a duty to the lower classes… and she could not forsake that duty.

 Even if she wanted to.

*

 "You're late, de'Arnise!"

 Nalia grinned, and clasped her arms around Imoen, both of them crying and weeping, but laughing at the same time. The warriors of Amn, those that were not on the walls, anyway, watched the two unite, and there were cheers. Imoen sniffed, and hugged Nalia tighter. 

 "You've done a good job here, Imoen… how did you persuade Temlinski to strengthen his city for war… he is said to be one of the most reactionary leaders in Amn. I doubt I could have persuaded him to repair the walls properly, and train the soldiers."

 She had heard a lot in the fifteen minute or so she had been in the city. Cernick had somehow managed to be the first to see her, and now rode beside her. He had been telling her everything Imoen had done, and Nalia for a moment wondered whether she had lost his love to Imoen… 

 It didn't matter, if she had.

 "Imoen did it with sheer force of will, Archmage and Duchess Nalia."

 The strange air genasi, Apheyr, seemed different. More human, if that was possible. Certainly, he was less aloof and mysterious, and his voice had lost the pretentious 'theeing' and 'thouing' that he had picked up.

 "Apheyr means I actually resorted to threats of physical violence. And don't call her Duchess, Apheyr. Nalia thinks it makes her sound eight-nine and not a day younger. Only old women are duchesses, not the young, attractive ones. So, Nalia. Why _are _you late?"

 Nalia smiled again, though there was a slight hesitation. "Oh… I just had to break the rules of the universe first, Imoen… defy Kelemvor in his own realm, fry a few baatezu… I called the God of the Dead a bastard…"

 That was a bit too much, even for Imoen. An eyebrow raised, and Apheyr raised both. The air genasi whispered in awe. "Perhaps Apheyr has chosen the wrong human mage… the Duchess de'Arnise seems to be much more powerful and skilled than Archmage Imoen…"

 Imoen gaped. "Apheyr… was that a _joke_?"

 She seemed completely astounded.

 Apheyr smiled hesitantly.

*

 The bells rang throughout Murann, as the first attack came, and whispers of awe spread through the ranks, as the three archmages stood together to defeat it single-handedly. Apheyr, Imoen and Nalia stood side by side, unleashing clouds of death magic, billowing flames, ice storms, tornadoes, swarms of insane gibberlings, flies summoned and controlled by magic, earthquakes, fireballs… every spell in their repertoire was unleashed, and ranks of humanoids just disappeared in a cascade of colours and magic that had not been seen in Amn for centuries.

 When the smoke cleared, the enemy had withdrawn out of the range of spells, with perhaps four thousand dead… but that was a long way from two hundred thousand, and that night, as the three slept, recovering their strength, catapults from the enemy launched barrels of pure oil into the city…

 And as they slept, the northern sector of Murann burned to cruel white ash.


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Suldanessllar**

_Entrance to the City, 4 Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

The gargantuan boles of the trees in the forest of Tethir were like towers. Each one towered above Jaheira, taller than any giant, as strong and unyielding as any basalt wall. Logs, moss and vines littered the floor, and she could sense the power of nature in the place. Here, at least, the forces of the ogre magi had not penetrated. Here, the corruptions were held at bay by the elves.

They had sworn not to let anyone take their forest from them, since the debacle with Irenicus. Because the forest had not been under elven control, the crazed wizard had been able to battle into the sacred city with ease. Looking around, sensing the peace that had descended upon this forest, Jaheira knew that the elves were patrolling it regularly, deciding to aid the Balance by cleansing the forest from evil.

But elsewhere she knew, the pendulum was swinging the other way. Murann was under siege, the rest of the south was held by small garrisons of the ogre magi. Only here, was there some semblance of peace, though she knew that once Murann fell, then this forest would fall, and the magical Suldanessllar would be trapped and lost in a sea of endless violence, surrounded by enemies on all sides.

Perhaps the troubles in the south would get the elves to listen, get the elves to end their dangerous policies of isolation, and exist more as brothers to humankind, rather than as distant, aloof neighbours. Amn could benefit from elven culture, certainly. Perhaps the care nearly all elves had for nature could help end the endless abandon with which the businessmen devoured the resources of the Coinland.

Jaheira stood before the massive tree that signalled the entrance to the city, but hidden by the strongest illusions that the elves could craft, she could not see it. Her powers were considerable, but while Nalia might be able to penetrate the illusion, Jaheira was nowhere near the strength of her old friend… in order to reach the elven city, she would have to wait for a guide… and she wasn't sure whether a guide would even come.

Around her, the gentle sounds of the forest made Jaheira smile. It was all so beautiful, the bounty of nature… perhaps, when all was done and over, she could found a druidic order within this forest, to aid the recovery of natural balance in Amn. Trademeet Grove was completely destroyed- nothing would grow there for years.

In order to redress the evil, perhaps she could set herself up as Great Druid… or even Grand Druid. There had been very few druids in Amn for the past year. The trouble with Faldorn had scared many off, and the death of the Grand Druid who had ruled from Tethyr had caused the groves of the Sword Coast to become leaderless and disparate.

All they needed was a strong, charismatic and committed leader who would gather them together, and forge them into a sword of balance and righteousness that would be able to protect nature with all the powers of druidry.

Jaheira sat in front of the tree, and closed her eyes, sending out her senses, becoming one with the land, forming the relationship… seeing if the land would accept her. What she felt was a desperate need for order, a craving for stability in the face of war.

The elves were doing well in creating that stability, but Jaheira knew that nature needed humans still. Elves were concerned with just their small areas, not the entire world… whereas humans _had _to be concerned with every part of the world.

Yes… the destiny for Jaheira was emblazoned within the very pulse of Mother Nature herself. After the war, she would take the tests to become Grand Druid… she would stand before the oak of Silvanus, and ask for his blessing. And if it was given, then she could begin to unite the druids of the Sword Coast… a dream that none had ever been able to accomplish.

Jaheira imagined the balance that would result from the amalgamation of tiny druid orders into one massive order… from her friendship with the Companions, whose powers were far beyond hers, from her association with the elves… and her partnership with the Harpers. Yes… Jaheira was the best candidate for Grand Druid.

"Jaheira of Tethyr, Great Druid of Trademeet… and Hero of the sacred city… I bid you welcome. Our lady the queen desires to speak with you in the palace. I have been commanded to guide you safely and surely before her presence."

Slowly, with a commanding presence, Jaheira opened her eyes, and stared at the elf standing in front of her. He wore green robes with gold trim, of a light silken material. Over those robes, he wore gleaming green chainmail that reached just above his knees. Bracers of green metal clasped the arms of his robes to him, accentuating the paleness of his skin. His long brown hair was braided, and a small band of emerald cloth bound it and kept it from his eyes. Even to Jaheira, he was attractive, his brown eyes filled with a knowledge and mystery that astounded her.

"May I have the pleasure of a name?"

The elven man nodded, the shadow of a smile on his fair, unblemished face. "If it pleases you, my lady. I am known as Eldeth, youngest wizard of Suldanessllar, and also skilled in the druidic arts… I could sense your bond with the earth before I even stepped through the illusion. You are strong indeed, Great Druid."

Jaheira, experienced, did not blush under his gaze, but her heart did thump slightly. "I should hope so. Not everyone is strong enough to lead the servants of nature. It is a demanding job that would devour the weak in an instant."

A simple nod. "I agree. But I am afraid that the queen is waiting for you even as we divulge such words. Perhaps after you have spoken to her, we could continue with this conversation… it is interesting indeed."

Jaheira smiled. "Yes, it is."

*

Ellesime sat, bedecked in jewellery of such delicate beauty that it astounded Jaheira. The jewellers of Amn could not match such skill. But then, that was obvious even from the buildings of the sacred city. It was all so beautiful, with everything not detracting from nature at all. Instead, it merely accentuated.

And the palace of the queen was no exception.

There was a lot of silver and gold, but mainly there was wood manipulated by the wondrous sorceries of the elves to form intricate shapes, intricate patterns that few humans could attain. Although Jaheira had seen all this before, it still did not fail to impress her. 

Elves had such subtlety of mind. It almost made her feel ashamed of her human side… almost. Humans had a capacity for survival that most elves did not have… or at least, they did not have the same _ferocity _when it came to survival… or maybe that was wrong… but there was something about humans, some tenacity that was lacking in the civilised nature of the elven cities and settlements.

"Jaheira… I bid you welcome to my city, you who once saved it from the evil of Irenicus… yet I know exactly what you have come to ask. You wish to request my aid, on the behalf of Nalia de'Arnise, to aid the fight against the ogre magi and their empire… but I am afraid that I cannot. My city has only just recovered from the attack upon us by Irenicus, and we have to time, nor inclination to engage in a foreign war."

Jaheira narrowed her eyes. "I was not sent by Nalia de'Arnise. The lady of Amn, who has worked so hard for the good of her nation, has been killed. Imoen, only surviving daughter of Bhaal, now commands the defence of the south, and she has come to beg for your aid, Ellesime. We ask your aid as friends."

The queen looked trouble, and bowed her head as if the jade crown atop her forehead weighed down on her with all the burdens of rulership. "Forgive me, Jaheira… I cannot. The people of Suldanessllar would not condone a war."

The druid said, "But I saw signs in the forest that your elven warriors have been leading campaigns against the dark creatures in the shadows of the forest. You condoned that war without any qualms… and yet even when there are two hundred thousand enemies marching on Murann, keeping the south in an iron grip, you cannot act. For a so-called champion of the balance, Ellesime, you do little to preserve it. What will happen when Murann falls, for it will do so, without your aid."

"Why is it that the rulers of the nation cannot send their own troops against their enemies, rather than relying on foreign aid from elves? Surely it would be better to use _human _fighters. I for one would not want it said that Amn was saved only through the intervention of elven warriors and wizards."

Jaheira snorted. "For want of a better word, Ellesime, you are an idiot."

The elven queen smiled. "Insult me if you wish, but my opinion will not change."

"So would Kathryn have said that when it came to saving this city from Irenicus? She could have captured her soul from the mad wizard, but left your city to suffer… instead, she fought tooth and nail against the invaders, until the city was freed from the evil forces of Joneleth and Bodhi."

Ellesime said, "I suppose that she wouldn't have said that…"

Jaheira cut shortly. "Obviously, or you would be trapped with Irenicus, worshipping a new god of the elves, while the Tree of Life collapsed, and your city burned. The drow would have risen to defeat you. You were too weak to protect yourself, because of your foolish actions against Irenicus. So you had to ask Kathryn for help. You do realise that you are in her debt?"

The queen of the elves sighed. "I am in _her _debt, yes."

The druid shook her head. "You are in _all _of our debt. Imoen, me, Kathryn, Viconia, Keldorn… Anomen… Nalia… and yet you refuse to help us, as we helped you? You are a coward, Ellesime. You cast Kathryn out when the world turned against her, knowing that your city might fall. Now, you have a chance to redeem your honour, to restore your wasted, _putrid _glory."

Ellesime stood, her eyes glinting with anger. "Yes… yes, I suppose we have. But that does not give you the right to insult me in my own palace, Jaheira, Great Druid or not. But you are right. I will aid the Coinland… if only partly for revenge against the killers of Nalia. She was probably the one member of your company that I admired, and considered a true friend. To hear she is dead is a… painful loss."

Jaheira nodded. It wasn't important that she was liked… just that the forces of the elves were marshalled against the ogre magi horde. In her mind, she was content. Nalia would be revenged, Amn would be saved, and Jaheira would become the next Grand Druid of the Sword Coast… one of the most powerful figures in Faerun.

She smiled.

*

_Amnwater, 4 Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

Anomen led the surviving knights, victorious, through the town of Amnwater, and was greeted by confetti and thousands of joyous shouts. The knights of the Order had crushed the forces serving the dark gods, and the north was freed from its temporary grip under evil. And now, the Council was ordering Anomen to return to Athkatla.

But he wasn't going to go back. 

He knew that when he did, he would be punished for sending Keldorn south with the pikemen, something that the Council had forbidden him expressly to do. Anomen intended to see Nalia safe before he returned. He also intended to send a message to the Council that the Order served the _people, _not the rulers.

And because of that, he was leading his knights south. 

Seven thousand left, having defeated thirty thousand enemies east of Amnwater. But they were seven thousand paladins, strengthened by clerics of Helm, Torm and Tyr. The only fear Anomen had was that they would arrive too late. But if they did, and discovered Nalia dead, then Anomen would make sure that no warrior of the dark empire survived to bear witness to the fact that they had killed the wizard-protector of Amn, as he had heard the common masses call her.

He smiled.

Nalia would be pleased that the lower classes had united with her. Her constant preaching about the welfare of the poor hadn't really sparked much in Anomen's soul. If they were poor, they were poor for a reason, probably the displeasure of the god's. But he did feel that those in power had a _duty _to protect those below them, and that part of Nalia's beliefs, he agreed with.

Amn, a merchant's nation, was always going to have poor. 

But the fact that those in power should protect them was still changeable, and it was a clash of wills that Anomen intended Nalia to win. In a purely cynical sense, House Delryn was far too well entwined with House de'Arnise to survive long if Nalia's power was broken… and the Council knew that.

They were all playing a game, a game that cost thousands of lives. But the prizes of this particular game were immense. In Nalia's case, it meant death, or such a dizzying rise of power that it was boggling to think about. For Anomen, and the Order, it meant complete servitude to the Council, or a new era where the Order was a force for goodness and justice in the Coinland.

And the dice that were deciding that outcome were being tossed hundreds of miles away, on the walls of Murann. Where Nalia struggled against the enemy alone, with few warriors, while Anomen and his knights attempted to reach her in time.

Anomen hoped that he could reach them, or everything he hoped to achieve would be wasted. Behind him, the knights marched, they had now left Amnwater… but there were still many days- maybe even a week or so, before they reached Murann.

Maybe it was already too late.


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

**Chapter Thirty Four: Fallback**

_Murann, 8 Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

 It was a living hell on earth.

 Nalia used her magic to send a wall of pure flame blasting upwards, and the orc troop that had managed to break through the gate stopped, the first rank being torn into ash by the wicked, devouring flames. She watched with despair, as, all around her, the warriors of Murann were retreating from the walls, with little to no organisation.

 In the distant haze of smoke and fire, she saw Imoen, using her black staff to fight off an ogre. A blast of ice knocked the ogre to the floor, and then a hefty blow from the staff shattered the ice sculpture. Above them, towering, stood Apheyr, his white robes whipped this way and that by the incredible energies he sought to control.

 Imoen saw Nalia, and shouted: "Get the warriors back to the palace! I will take five hundred to the docks, to hold them. Quickly, Nalia! We need to move, or not even the inner walls will hold!"

 Nalia nodded, and looked around for someone she knew. Cernick was commanding the southern wall… panic shot through her… he probably didn't know the walls were falling. Nor did the commander of the north wall. 

 She turned, her robes swirling in the rushing wind that the fires generated as they sucked in more and more air, just so they could continue to burn. Shadows passed her by as the warriors of Amn fled, screaming in fear and pain.

 The victorious bellows of the ogres made Nalia shiver in anger. It had been the constant pressure. None of them had expected the enemy to keep on attacking constantly, never ceasing… with Nalia, Imoen and Apheyr trapped in an endless battle, they had been forced to memorise spell after spell, with very little rest.

 It was a cunning tactic on the part of the ogres. It required a tremendous amount of warriors, with which to absorb the casualties that the three wizards were causing, but now those casualties were becoming less and less, as the three were completely exhausted.

 The walls were nearly empty now, and a massive sea of the enemy warriors was pouring over the undefended walls. Nalia knew a flash of fear, but then that faded beneath a wave of fury. So, they wanted to break Murann, did they?

 She checked the walls.

 No-one on her side was there.

 Her keen ears picked up the distant horn calls and commands from miles south and north, as Cernick and his parallel commander were told to withdraw. They would be fleeing now… and it meant that Nalia was alone.

 Smiling, she walked calmly over towards the nearest burning building, feeling the prickling, painful intensity of heat washing over her. Towards her, the enemy were charging, screaming with red eyes glimmering, for her blood. Their swords were glinting in the firelight murderously.

 But whatever murder shone, was mirrored, and increased a hundredfold in Nalia's eyes. A complicated series of words tumbled from her lips, musical and tinged with the power of magic. It was an incredible spell, one she had snatched with glee from the library of the city, telling the annoyed librarian that it was for the good of the city.

 It was a spell that gave the caster complete control over any fire, but it was unlike minor spells of its kind, because it gave the caster control over any fire within a _three mile radius. _Nalia had read the description of the spell within the tome, and had nearly had to make herself breathe. 

 And now, there was a perfect time to use it.

 Half of outer Murann was burning… if she could just control the fire, then perhaps the retreat could be made less hazardous… and maybe the ogres could be scared into resting for a while, so that the army and the Companions could get some rest.

 The incantation finished, and Nalia was aware of a tickling feeling running from both her hands, and the fingertips, to the depths of her skull… it was a tantalising feeling. She could feel the shell of magic surrounding her, its invisible mass filling her with awe, and at the same time a little fear.

 And then, to complete the spell, she placed both hands into the fire.

 Her view of the real world dissolved into a myriad of orange, red and yellow light, swirling and roaring. The heat washed through her, and she smiled, feeling more comforted than she had in years. Sending her senses through the realm of flame, she soon forced herself to be directed upwards… and with her, rose the fire. 

 And then, her consciousness became aware of another fire, and it eagerly awaited her command, for it could sense, although it was no animate object, her desire to kill, her desire to send it, without constraints, against the enemy who had given birth to it.

 For a brief moment she lost herself amidst the anger of the flame, amidst the passion and angst of the fire, but then she remembered that she was Nalia. Not a middling little apprentice struggling to cast a fireball, but an archmage, whose skill with magic was awesome… if anyone could master and control this spell, then it was her.

 So, with as much force as she could, she commanded the fire to bow before her. It struggled, and for a moment Nalia gasped, thinking she was on fire. But then she remembered that she wasn't, and she urged the fire to bow again.

 And this time it did. As it did, Nalia was rushed from the depths of fiery colour, and back into the real world. She was now standing in the centre of the furnace, and she saw the enemy running from her in terror.

 Nalia smiled.

 Let them run. She moved forward, the flames burning around her, a shroud of immense power and glory that made her seem more an elemental than a mortal. With a single gesture, she send a wall of flame rocking towards the shattered gates, towards the massed ranks of the enemy, who shrieked as the bestial nature of fire gripped skin and bones in its molten desire to crumble, to crush, to kill.

 Ash was whipped through the air, and smoke cascaded like a torrent, like a hurricane. 

 Nalia closed her eyes, and urged the fires: _kill the invaders of Murann, guard its defenders…_ and with that mental command, she sent images. Goblins, ogres and orcs were to be killed… any human with the insignia of Murann or Amn was not to be.

 And she felt the sense of completeness, as every fire in Murann obeyed.

*

 Imoen roared, and a lash of crackling blue energy struck the enemy trying to scale the walls of the docks. Seven orcs tumbled, and their fall knocked those behind them. She heard the commands of the commander behind her, and arrows, steel-tipped and buzzing like insects, sped into the enemy ranks. 

 Through the open gates, the last few survivors were running, dazed, bloodied and most wounded. Men frantically grappled with the winch on the gatehouse, urgently trying to get the gates to shut, trying to close the gates before the press of humanoids just ran through, and killed every warrior behind the walls.

 A single command word and Imoen sped into the air. Soaring towards the gate, she roared a fireball spell, the easiest one and quickest that she knew. It flew, a tiny dove of flame, through the closing gates, and scattered the charging enemy with immense force.

 Yet now a group of orcs had managed to get through the gate before it was shut. They used their brute strength to keep the gate open, as more of the brutes poured through. Imoen knew she needed to stop this influx of enemies, and sent a death spell, tingling with her desire to kill, from her fingertips.

 A collective groan escaped the lips of each orc, and Imoen watched with some satisfaction as they crumpled, lifeless, to the floor, each one touched by a separate spark of the spell that leaped from the original globe of blue.

 And then, with a loud, final clang, the gates were shut.

 Imoen nodded once, satisfied, and then levitated herself upwards, until she stood once more on the battlements, looking down at the city. She estimated that perhaps thirty thousand enemies now held the outer city. The ogres would not be stupid enough to send their entire army into a city fight.

 There were probably another one hundred and fifty thousand. Maybe a few less.

 A sense of futility washed over Imoen then. In the retreat from the walls, they had probably lost about five thousand men. Five thousand men lost meant only fifteen thousand remained to stop the siege… and although the enemy had lost nearly thirty thousand that hardly seemed to even dent their numbers.

 There was a loud roar, and Imoen saw about twenty huge hill giants charge towards the walls. These were the biggest giants she had seen, and that included the Fire Giants of Yaga-Shura… and in the centre of the ten, was a massive giant, wearing a huge iron crown that crackled with power. He must be the chief of the hill giants… Imoen heard the panicked cries of the warriors manning the walls, and she knew that none of them knew how to react.

 Taking control, she used her magic to heighten the volume of her voice, and then yelled: "Ballistae, fire! Do not aim, just launch into the clump of them! Archers, target the eyes! Catapults break up the ground in front of them! Wizards, area effect spells, _now_! Pikemen, crouch behind the crenulations, do not stand, or you will be knocked aside like chaff! Somebody get the reserves from the Pier Tower! Tell them we need them urgently!"

 She saw the men around her react then, stirred into action by her words. One of the giants toppled and fell, and Imoen held on to the wall as the ground shook with the force of his fall. Arrows, ballista bolts and destructive spells tore like a cloud of death, towards the giants, and another one fell, followed by another.

 Just seventeen left… and the chief.

 Imoen sent a finger of death tumbling towards the giant king, but as the spell neared, the crown flashed blue, and the spell disintegrated. The daughter of Bhaal paled. His crown extended an area of dead magic… it meant that her spells did not work. She took a step back, and then frowned.

 No… that couldn't be right.

 The spells other wizards were casting were working… maybe spells against _him specifically_ didn't work. Almost experimentally, but still realising that speed was of the essence, Imoen send a fireball at his feet. It exploded, and the giants around him gulped.

 But the king didn't even shiver slightly. 

 So… that crown must protect him from all magical harm, of any kind…

 "Ballistae bolts against the giant chieftain! Wizards and archers, target the rest of the giants! Quickly! Quickly!"

 It was too late, though. With a bellow, the giants attacked the wall. The pikemen did their best, but they were flung from the walls. Even the crenulations didn't help. The strength of the giants merely knocked the top of the wall to pieces. 

 A colossal club swung a few metres from Imoen, and the wall crumbled, the top of it falling down into the killing ground. Imoen fell to her knees, and coughed as dust filled her throat and lungs. Standing, she released contingencies, and surrounded herself with her most powerful protections, and then, glaring angrily, she called out, "Chieftain of giants, I challenge you to a duel! Let us see how long you fare against my magic!"  
 There was a booming laugh. "You stupid. Spells not work against me. Fight me if you will. I will crush your spine and skull and drink your pretty blood."

 And the giant king roared. Her spell protections gleamed, and as the king's club hit her, Imoen was knocked back through the air. The protections still held up though. Uttering another word, Imoen hovered still in the air, magic preventing her from falling. From her robes, she pulled a long dagger, wrought by her own hands, from the spine of a demon obtained during her extra-planar travels.

 Grasping it tightly, Imoen whispered a brief incantation, and felt her muscles grow, and her reflexes and speed increase. Another word and she soared through the air, towards the giant. She dodged hit club easily, able with magic to fly through the air.

 She slashed at his face, and tore easily through his thick skin. He bellowed in pain, and took a step back. The hill giants who were attempting to destroy the wall stared in surprise that this tiny little mage could actually wound their chieftain.

 Imoen took advantage of his surprise to slash again, and this time his eye was gouged from his skull. His bellow was more of a shriek this time, and his club struck Imoen on her left side. The spell protections fizzled out, but it had absorbed one more blow- her ribs felt pained though.

 Knowing that she had one more chance, Imoen pointed her arm forward, her dagger held tightly, and flew, like a bow from an arrow, headlong, into the vacant eye socket of the giant king. The dagger flew through his eye socket, and he shrieked. It then continued to cut through, and Imoen was pale in horror as she stood on the bridge of his nose, her arm in up to the shoulder in blood and brains.

 The giant thrashed, refusing to die. Imoen jiggled her knife around, and he thrashed even more, as if Imoen was slashing the part of his brain that judged movement. Another merciless cut from the dagger, and the king grunted, and then went as stiff as a board, toppling down to the ground.

 At the last moment, Imoen flew upwards, and landed gracefully, like a cat, on the battlements. Now, the reserves from the Pier Tower had arrived, and the ballistae and wizards and archers were sending their lethal missiles against the remaining giants.

 They fell, and scrambled to flee.

 Out of twenty giants who had attacked, three escaped alive… 

 But then, not even those three escaped, as Imoen watched the fires of Murann rise against the invaders, and she smiled. Nalia's spell was working, then. A brief taste of envy span through her, but then she realised that she was too tired to feel envy.

 Far too tired.

 With a weary groan, she fell against the shattered, cracked battlements, and just lay there, against the cold, unforgiving basalt rock. And slowly, her eyelids flickered shut, as she gave in to the peaceful darkness of rest.

*

 The ogre magi had to rest their army, who were all as exhausted as the defenders of Murann. But the next day, they attacked again, and again, and again. Every time they attacked, they lost thousands, but the defenders were losing warriors too… again and again they attacked, and with blood, sweat and tears, they were repulsed.

 Nalia looked out of the palace on the twelfth of Tarsakh, and bowed her head.

 It was a foregone conclusion that they would lose.

 But there was one chance, at least… once chance to defeat this horde.

 And that chance relied on one thing. The five thousand defenders of Murann who were left would have to charge against the hundred thousand humanoids, in an attempt to cut out the heart of the army, led by the ogre magi themselves.

 And as Nalia stared, tears in her eyes, at the mass of enemies that they would have to fight through, she wondered if she had, perhaps, given away her afterlife to Kelemvor too quickly. For it seemed that she would probably rejoin his grim halls within a day.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

**_Hello. Now this is the chapter that I have waited ages to write. Hopefully, it will be okay… but perhaps in my eagerness to write this, I may have made many flaws and mistakes. Please forgive me if this is so. I would just like to mention that my inspiration, and some of the general words for Nalia's inspirational speech have come from "At the End of the Day", which is a song in Les Miserables. Sorry if you think that the speech sucks, but… well, I like it, so… *ahem* Anyway, enjoy this chapter! Please review, as well! ~G_**

****

**Chapter Thirty Five: ****Battle******

_Murann, 13th Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

 The golden dawn gave a hint of heavenly beauty to everything, even the fire-wracked ruins of outer Murann, and the cracked, battle-scarred remnants of the inner city and docks. Everywhere Nalia looked, were the bodies of men she knew, women she knew, warriors all who had lived and died to serve their nation.

 A slight breeze stirred, and Nalia sighed. There had been no attack yet. She supposed that the ogre magi had scried out their intent the night before, in the council session, and remained confident that they could defeat the tiny remnants of the Amnian warriors. 

 Nalia looked down into the courtyard, and saw the preparations. In a few hours, they would attack, their horns sounding, and voices crying out… yet she saw in the eyes of every warrior, the sense of defeat. They knew they were riding out to a hopeless death.

 Cernick walked over until he stood beside her, and for a long while, he was silent. Finally though, as if he had finally gained a grip over his emotions, he said, "Nalia… when you returned, back from the dead, I felt so… liberated… I thought that nothing could defeat us, that with you as our leader, we could defeat the scum… I thought… I thought I might have been able to return to the keep, to my family, and my daughter. But I… I don't think that I will be able to."

 She opened her mouth to speak, but Cernick cut her off with a curt shake of the head. "No, Nalia… please, listen to me. I will be proud to serve alongside you today, in the final battle of my life… I will be happy to go out, charging, with the banners flying and the breeze in our faces. But I want your promise."

 Nalia frowned. "My promised on what, Cernick?"  
 He looked down. "That you will not let yourself die. When all looks bleak, teleport yourself to Athkatla, or to the Keep, and there you can lead the defence of the north. The people will support you… they love you. Fight against the injustices of the Council, and then lead the army against these ogres, and show them what will happen when Amn is united, when the rulers _listen _to the people instead of keeping them downtrodden… but you must live, Nalia. You must live so that our sacrifice is not in vain."

 There was a long silence. 

 "Cernick, I…"

 The captain sighed. "You are not ready to promise that. By the gods, lady, you are too good for your health. Selfless and noble to the end. You could have left us all to die long ago, and none would have hated you for it…"

 Nalia shook her head, and gave him a smile. "No, Cernick… I could not. For the Amn that I have fought for these past months will die here today. I will not live longer, because everyone else that survives is corrupt, and wishes me dead. If I return to the north, no matter how much support I have amongst the common people, I will die. The Council brooks no threat to their authority, and I have threatened them, the way the people love me so… no, I would rather die here, leading the people I love and know, the people I have done my best to serve, than to live in constant fear of betrayal by those grown fat on corruption."

 Cernick's eyes glistened, and he turned away, rather than cry. "It is an honour."

*

 The army gathered outside the walls of Murann. The enemy army stood in massed ranks, almost content to wait for Nalia's forces to make the first move. Nalia rode beside Imoen, Apheyr and Cernick, and the ten household knights that remained to her. 

 She faced the five thousand men, who stared at her, their eyes empty of anything except their final duty. For a moment, her courage failed her, and she wondered whether she should lead them to the docks, and there fight, hoping that the Council would send aid.

 But they wouldn't.

 Better this way, that they have some chance of killing the leaders of this horde, than the other way, which doomed them while they remained behind the supposed security of the dock walls… 

 If they fought like this though, eyes dead of emotion, hearts empty of anything, then the battle would be lost. The men had to have something to fight for… something to die for, something to survive for. And for that, Nalia knew, she would have to talk to them.

 Looking at the horde about seven hundred metres away, she bowed her head, and then looked once again at the warriors. Loudly, Nalia then shouted, trying to put her emotion into her words, "Warriors of Amn! I know that in your hearts, you despair. For here, in the broken ruins of the southern jewel, you have fought, you have stood against the onslaughts of evil, and you have done your duty. Yet your rulers remain in the north, safe, refusing to send aid, refusing to help us."

 There were a few grumbles at this, and Nalia saw a brief spark of rebellion appear in their eyes, and then fade. Pausing for a moment, she continued, her voice cutting through the silence, throbbing with the power of an orator:

 "The winter of war has come, and has left us, but there is another winter, a winter caused by those in power! Every day, thousands suffer in poverty, a poverty inflicted by our oh-so noble rulers."

 The grumbles were louder this time, and a few angry shouts. Imoen looked at Nalia, seeing the woman shout openly for the first time her views on the Council for everyone to hear. If they survived, Nalia knew the Council would desire her dead more than ever. But the words had been spoken now, and there was little that could be done to stop the flow of words, even if Nalia had wanted to stop them.

 "The righteous hurry past, for they do not hear the little ones crying for their mothers! For their fathers, brothers, all who have fallen in the bloody fields of Murann, in the valleys, in the moorland, in the ruins of Imnescar, in the passes, on the roads. We have given all; we have charged forward, our voices crying out to the gods!"

 More than a few shouts now, as each person remembered the dead, those who had fallen in their thousands. They looked around, and saw the ruins of the walls, walls which had stood proud a week before.

 "And we have been ignored! The rich still live in their halls, unconcerned about our sacrifice. The Council stands immobile, when they should be acting for our families, our children, our _nation!"_

Shouts of agreement, louder than anything before, rocked Nalia, and she found herself gripped by the passions of every man standing in front of her, shocked at the depth of their anger, at their fury.

 "Where is the unity, my warriors? Where is the unity, and power that has made people look at Amn in wonder? We may find it hard to look for, we may find it nearly non-existent, but I assure you, _it is there!_ "

 To that, very few answered. 

 "It is here, within our hearts, within our souls! It begs for release, our desire for unity, our desire for fairness, our desire for justice! Justice for the poor, justice for the rich! Justice for men, justice for women! Justice for all! Justice, not just for the merchant's who control the purses of the Council, but for the slaves who fuel the greed of the merchants."

 A blasting of sound and Nalia nodded. She was speaking out now, and she was finding such freedom in the words, words that she had kept bottled up inside her, unless talking to her closest friends. And the soldiers were looking at Nalia in a new light, realising that this was one lady of Amn who was willing to fight alongside them, and talk to them as equals.

 "When we stand here this day, shoulder to shoulder, blade with blade, as brothers in arms, we are _united_. We are strong, we are a sword of justice for our nation! We will _make _the Council sit up and take notice! We will _make _the people see our sacrifice, and with our sacrifice, all will change!"

 More shouts. Nalia saw, behind them, the horde losing patience. They were starting to advance, and she saw the fear flashing in the eyes of her soldiers, though it was less than it had been before.

 "Because there is a new sun, waiting to rise! Like the waves waiting to crash on the shore, like a storm that will break, any second! There is a hunger in the land, a _hunger _for peace, a _hunger _for justice! There is a reckoning to be made! These enemies have attacked our lands, they have killed, raped, pillaged! And we will show them, not the divided land that drives itself for coin, but a land of noble warriors, willing to give all to stop their dark advance!"

 And with this, she skilfully turned the anger against the invaders, and saw the flashing of anger replacing the permeations of fear. Swords were rattled, spears beat against shields, and curses were yelled against the enemy who were still marching towards them.

 "And I say to you now, warriors of Amn: _fuck_ the Council! Fuck everything they tell us! Fuck everything about duty, loyalty, and when you fight, think of your families, think of this nation, and then fix that in your eyes!"

 There were roars now, and Nalia could not even process the emotions, so powerful and strong were they, quivering with a force that shook her to the core.

 "For there will be a new dawn for Amn! And on the sunset of our days, as our eyes dim, and our souls fly in glory to the realms of Kelemvor, the people of our nation will pray for us! They will see us, gleaming in our righteousness, for we will have avenged those who are dead!"

 More shouts, a non-stop release of emotion, of anger, and she saw the fires of courage rekindled in their eyes. Nalia felt the tears dripping down her cheeks, for she too could see what she wanted them to see. She could see the children sacrificed to dark gods, she could see the warriors killed with blades and spells, she could see the debaucheries of the invaders, and knew that now was the time to repay that pain.

 "Fuck the Council, I say, and fight for you!"

 Another massive shout- a single shout that was all in unison. Nalia turned, and saw the enemy a hundred metres from her, and they were charging now, the ground pounding, like a thunderstorm of terrible proportions. Turning to her men, she cried out, as she charged forward, her robes gleaming and her staff shining with power.

 "For our families! For our people!_ For Amn!"_

And her final cry was echoed by five thousand, as they charged, none on horses, all on foot, their weapons held firmly, and fear now long gone. Hatred, bloodlust, filled all her warriors, and it even pulsed through Nalia.

 Alongside her, rode Imoen, and Apheyr. Cernick and the household guard charged with them. They would weaken the enemy, hopefully enabling them to fight through to the centre of the army. Nalia could see the banner of Sythillis and Cyrvrisnea. She cried a spell, and lightning flashed from her fingers, as uncontrolled as her fury.

 It lashed forward, and the shrieks of dying enemies only served as further fuel for the fury that was building yet stronger within the bellows of her heart. Above them, the sky was darkening, as Apheyr called the power of ice, wind and rain to his side. Lightning flashed, and the rumbling of thunder made Nalia feel that today was the final judgement.

 Another spell and about a hundred goblins died as she sent a death spell towards them. Imoen cast a dragon's breath spell and Nalia watched as enemies were scattered this way and that, screaming in terror. And quite right that they should.

 They were the Three, the archmages who rode now, side by side, Cernick and the knights fighting against the endless press of enemies. But none could stand against the Three. They send flame, lightning, ice… necromantic blasts left their fingers, draining the life energy from those around them.

 Swarms of magic missiles took out any enemy wizards they saw, and so no magic was even raised against them once. Nalia flung out her arm, and a blazing fire appeared, spreading acrid smoke all around them.

 Imoen gestured, and another death spell claimed fifty lives in an instant. Apheyr whispered a spell, and an earthquake toppled into the midst of the army. All three pointed then, and a lightning bolt from each index finger tore forward.

 And, faced by the Three, the enemy fled. Magic itself was turning against the army, like a beast of ultimate might. Purples flashes of light, green flames, blue sparks that danced wildly, it was almost like a fireworks display, but it was a fireworks display of lethal power that claimed lives every moment that passed.

 But then Apheyr's horse bucked, and the air genasi fell to the floor. At once, Nalia heard Imoen cry out, and her spell tore a hill giant into dust, before he could crush Apheyr with his foot. But her spell left Imoen open to a massive spell attack by a Red Wizard.

 With a growl, Nalia charged forward, and surrounded herself with a brilliant globe of white light, dazzling bright. The spells the wizard sent against her were rebounded, and she saw his eyes widen at her power.

 Fury powered her next spell, as she sent kaleidoscopic colours of lightning tearing towards him. He screamed once, and then fell dead. The lightning spread from him, leaping from creature to creature killing each one immediately. Nalia then turned, and saw Imoen standing alongside Apheyr, surrounded by enemies. 

 Apheyr was wielding his two ice daggers with amazing skill. They tore through bone and sinew, and blood spattered on his white robes as he dealt death with each swift, graceful blow. He was almost beautiful to watch, the way every movement was controlled.

 Imoen was doing almost as well, and she was beautiful to watch in a different way. Every movement was wild, imprecise, but every strike from her black staff claimed a life, powered as it was by her magic.

 Nalia knew however, that she could not afford to begin fighting in combat. Not yet… she had to use her magic while she could, before the numbers grew too many to fight against… she had to reach the ogre magi with enough strength to kill them.

 The sounds of battle surrounded her.

 The charge of the Amnish warriors had lost its impetus. They had penetrated far into the ranks, but now the warriors were isolated in small pockets. Nalia could see warrior after warrior falling, their blood seeping into the grass, the fury in their eyes fading into the emptiness of death.

 She saw Cernick leading about a hundred fighters forward, but there was little space to move. His skilled, powerful strokes severed heads, claimed lives, every moment that passed, but she also saw that he was tiring… she saw his movements become jerky, weary… as did the soldiers around him.

 And then, screaming, she saw him go down, his head slashed from his body with a cruel swing from an ogre. Nalia blasted the creature into ash, without even a spell, for her magic escaped her control when she saw her friend die.

 She looked once again around the battlefield, and saw that there were fewer pockets… she roared, her shout reaching above the din, and then she sent spell after spell into every enemy she could see, using every power available to her, using the magic contained within her amulets, contained within her rings…

 But it was not enough… it was like battling the sea itself, fighting against these endless enemies… so numerous were they, that even her most powerful spells did little to break their morale… Nalia kicked out, and her foot got an orc in the throat, and he fell to the floor, thrashing, trying to draw breath into his ruined windpipe.

 Looking back, she saw Imoen and Apheyr, blasting around them with their own magic, having defeated the foes around them. Yet even their magic could not do anything… there were so _many _enemies… _so many._

 Yet she had known this. She had known this, she had led her soldiers in, and now it was time to fight until she died, so that, just as she had said, the Council would take heed of their sacrifice, and change Amn for the better.

 She charged into the thick of things before any doubts could rise.

 Casting more spells, Nalia tried to break through a solid line of iron-clad ogres, knowing that she just had to get a little closer, just a little further, to kill the leaders of the horde… to break their morale… to win victory.

 Even as she fought with every spell she knew however, the ogre magi merely moved away, leaving the enemy to deal with Nalia. She cursed with rage, and fire exploded from her form, burning into ash those who had sought to grapple with her.

 And then the hopelessness struck her, as she saw the ogre magi's banner rise once again, about seven hundred metres away, with about seven thousand enemies between her and the banner. Nalia shook her head.

 She had failed.

 But even as that thought filled her mind with despair, horns from every direction sounded, and Nalia looked upwards. From the north, she saw knights charging, roaring the battle cries of the Order. They were led by the heavily armoured Anomen.

 From the east, she saw an army of elven cavalry, led by someone of such beauty, who she had seen long ago. Queen Ellesime, of Suldanessllar, who charged at the head of her army, hands flickering with the magic and power given to her by the Tree of Life. With her, moved the other wizards of the elven city, singing their praises to the elven pantheon, as they attacked with their weapons into the ogre hordes.

 Panic gripped the ogre-led hordes then, which was made worse when pikemen from the south charged in, led by the old paladin, Keldorn, who chanted prayers to Torm, as he attacked right and left with Carsomyr, unleashing its holy strength against his enemies.

 And then Nalia heard the victorious shouts from her own warriors, as they fought with renewed hope. Now, they had a chance! Nalia charged forward, with her renewed strength, flinging spells of destruction from her fingers.

 Lines crumbled, as she fought towards Ellesime, knowing as she did that the other leaders were fighting towards her… they would meet at the centre, and then they could aim for Sythillis and his dark lover.

 There was true chaos, but finally, Nalia rode through a clear space in the battlefield, and saw Ellesime standing there. The elven queen's eyes widened and she turned in anger to Jaheira, saying something. Nalia saw Jaheira's eyes wide as well, and she knew that they had both assumed her dead.

 "Ellesime," she shouted over the din of the battle. "Welcome! It appears that victory is in sight! Let us carve the head from the shoulders of the ogre magi, and bring peace to the south finally."

 The queen nodded, and rode so that she was alongside Nalia. Through the press of fighters, rode Anomen then, with about a hundred of his knights- the rest were fighting elsewhere on the battlefield. Nalia smiled at him, relieved that he had managed to come here. Keldorn then appeared, mounted on his own horse. 

 Nalia said, "It is time to end this."

*

 The stories of the Battle of Murann have spread far and wide, yet none have yet managed to capture the power of what happened after the leaders of each army met. As the armies clashed on the battlefield, the leaders charged forward, and, with magic and steel, shattered through the ogre magi's defence… Imoen and Apheyr joined with them, and the two of them did much to break the defence. 

 And just as it seemed that victory was at hand, just as it seemed that the sacrifices of thousands would be redeemed, a massive flame erupted from the ground, and dark knights charged, eyes gleaming red, chanting the name of Cyric, the Dark Sun.

 They were his followers from his godly halls, and they rode towards Nalia and her weary companions with hunger, desiring to finally end the humiliating battle that was costing their master his respect amongst the gods.

 Nalia stood, having no spells left, ready to die, knowing that her soul would soon be left rotting in the torture pits of demons, her weaknesses laid bare to those who would taunt her, maim her, hurt her… 

 The battle stopped, and they watched the knights of Cyric close the gap between them and the de'Arnise wizard. Yet when they were about to stab their lances through Nalia's heart, a single being of brilliant pink light appeared on the mortal realms, harp song pealing across the battlefield.

 The knights of Cyric scattered, as Kathryn, Goddess of All Song, protected her favoured servant, Nalia de'Arnise… saviour of Amn. The servants of Lord Murder fled back to their abyssal realm, and then the armies of Amn and Suldanessllar slaughtered the enemy survivors. The blood stained the plains red, and the funeral pyres sent black smoke rising into the clear white sky, proclaiming to Amn, that Nalia de'Arnise had finally won.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

**_Just a very short chapter now._****_ This was always going to be a short chapter anyway. Thanks for the reviews, keep 'em coming. ~G_**

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Rebuked**

_Council of Six, Athkatla, 26th Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

"Nalia de'Arnise, you have taken unlawful powers for yourself. You arranged an alliance with the elves of Suldanessllar without first consulting us. You promised them free control over the Forest of Tethir, but asked them to keep it open for druids and human traders? You _asked _them? By rights, you should have commanded them to withdraw to their city, and stay there. Instead, you acted as if you were a diplomat, whereas your dictate was t-"

 Nalia cut in. "My dictate was to pacify the south, which I did. For now, there will be no threat whatsoever. The forest is clear, every last remnant of the dark empire has been defeated. Murann is being rebuilt by Firecam, and I have arranged supplies to be sent from Trademeet, south. Also, it would have been impossible to start a war, just after this one was finished…"

 The Council Member who was speaking said, "Yes, and you are responsible for the largest loss of life this nation has ever experienced in a war. About seventy thousand fighters lost altogether! You should have defeated that rabble in the south easily. Instead, your ineptitude cost us the jewel of the south, and the pride of our army!"  
 Anomen roared in anger. "_Your _reticence and cowardice cost us the jewel of the south, you corrupt idiots! Nalia fought for you! Nalia died, and had her head cut from her shoulders for you! She spent nearly four months in constant battle, fighting for you! At all times, she acted in honour, and-"

 "You will be silent, Lord Delryn. You have committed high treason. You disobeyed a direct order-"

 "What, for sending warriors to aid Nalia?"

 "-and for that you will be punished. You should be glad that-"

 "Are you even listening to what you are saying?"

 "-we are not going to hang you, but-"

 "Nalia, you don't have to listen to this, you have the army outside! March in here, kill these bastards, and take power yourself! They are weak, limp-willed cowards who have doomed this nation! Think of how much better you could rule."

 "-_exile you instead!"_

Nalia looked at Anomen, and shook her head. Respectfully, she bowed to the members of the Council, and said, "Well, I hope that in time, I am forgiven for my actions in the south. Know that I am apologetic. My disloyalty and ineptitude will not happen again, I assure you… I will stay here one night, and then I will return to my keep."

 Anomen stared at her as if she were mad. "Nalia!"

 She bowed again, and then walked out of the Council chamber. Anomen stormed out after her, and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her around. "What was _that?_ Playing all humble now that you realise your pretty speech was a waste of bloody time?"

 Nalia regretted telling Anomen about her speech, but he would never understand. She wiped away the tears of humiliation and the tears from the pain of being shaken, and said, "Anomen, please… leave me be…"

 "No, Nalia! Seventy thousand people died for you! Are you going to let the Council go unchallenged! Nalia, listen to me! For gods' sake! You cannot take this lying down! Raise your banner in the streets, and the people will rally to you! Drive the evil, corrupt scum from Athkatla, and take the empire yourself. Imagine it, Empress Nalia de'Arnise… think of what you could do if you wanted to."

 "No, Anomen."

 His rage snapped. "For fuck's _sake_!"

 Nalia whispered a spell, and in a moment, they were teleported into her private rooms in the de'Arnise estate in Athkatla. He blinked, and then carried on. "Aren't you bothered, Nalia? What, have you gone back to become that spoiled little princess running around crying about the poor. You _died, _Nalia. Has it shattered your courage? Did the little bargain you made with Kelemvor turn you craven?"

 She slapped him across the face. "_You have no idea what bargain I made. How dare you!"_

Anomen froze, seeing the terror, and anguish in her eyes. "Wh- what… what is it, Nalia?"

 She shook her head, trying to wipe away the tears and look away at the same time. "It… it doesn't matter, Anomen… it… it… it… _doesn't _mean anything here… not anymore… it… doesn't… _matter…_"

 Finding it difficult to breathe, Nalia sat on a seat, and saw Anomen look at her strangely. "Gods… what did you promise him, Nalia?"

 Holding her head in her hands, Nalia tried to stop herself from crying, tried to regain her dignity, but failed. "Please… Anomen… don't… ask…"

 The Prelate shook his head. "I am sorry, Nalia… but as a friend, I want to know. What happened? _What did you promise him?"_

"No."

 _"_Nalia, tell me."

 "No."

 "Please, tell me?"

 "No… I… can't…"

 "Just tell me."

 "No!"

 "Tell me!"

 And then she cracked, and shrieked hysterically: "_Fine! _I gave him my _fucking _soul! I… I told him I would spend _eternity _in torture, so that I could help Amn! And now that I have won, I get these bastards telling me I have failed!"  
 Anomen stared at her, pale with shock and horror. "Then… then… why don't you want to kill the bastards, why don't you want to become Empress… you could do so much with your life, Nalia… so much…"

 She sighed. "You… don't understand… I have to make sure my life means something, Anomen. I have no chance to spend a happy eternity… I at least want to spend forever knowing that I did some good in the world… and what good is there in starting a civil war? I want to help this country, not plunge it into bloodshed… not plunge it into bloody combat."

 Nalia sniffed, and Anomen enfolded her in his armoured arms, pulling her close. "Oh, gods, Nalia… I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry… I… I didn't know… I… I _swear _to you that I will stand by you, forever… forever and even more. This I swear by my love to Kathryn."

 Nalia nodded. "Thank… thank you, Anomen…"


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Vampires**

_De'Arnise Estate, Athkatla, 27th Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

 Nalia was up well into the night. Anomen had taken his leave about two hours ago, and was now sleeping contentedly in one of the guest bedrooms. Even from here, Nalia could here his snores, and there was something comforting in their rolling melody. It had been a long time since she had heard the knight snore.

 Not since their adventures with Kathryn which seemed so far away even if it was only a year ago… Nalia sat, looking through her windows, up at the stars, and sighed. Everything had changed everything. So much had been lost. So many lives, so many friends… Anomen was consumed by duty; Keldorn was old and wished to retire. Imoen was losing her exuberance.

 Jaheira… Jaheira had already left her company, travelling into the Forest of Tethir, to take the oaths to become Grand Druid, and Nalia was upset that she was viewing that move in terms of political advantage. But then, that was what she had become- a political creature, designed to exist on the cunning manipulations of society.

 Taking a sip of Tethyrian mulled red, slightly warm and delicately spiced, Nalia wished she could go back to the simple life she had had with Kathryn. Travelling, spending the nights under the stars, before a campfire, with the thrill of the chase, with the danger of small skirmishes, where a failure did not mean the loss of an entire nation…

 But had it ever been like that? 

 No, of course it hadn't… but the fact remained that the Bhaalspawn had ascended, meant that the lynchpin holding each of them together had faded, leaving them all with an endless void of loss. Nalia had tried to replace that void with the burdens and responsibilities of ruling, and it had worked… too well.

 Now, she couldn't act _without _thinking of her people, without thinking of Amn, and for a split second, she wished she could have been vapid, unconcerned, and content with taking Roenall's hand in marriage. 

 But her father hadn't brought her up to be a weak woman who dallied with me for the scraps of power… he had arranged for her to be trained as a mage, by an old witch from Rasheman. He had tutored her in the arts of government, politics, economy, history, and military tactics… anything that would give her an edge in the real world.

 Until she was eighteen, Gerald de'Arnise was willing to indulge her strength of will, her independence… but then, Aunt Delcia had come to stay at the keep, and everything had changed… everything. 

 Delcia was her mother's sister, and nothing like the kind woman Emma had been. No, Delcia was an iron-hard woman, who had taken advantage of Gerald's absence to beat Nalia, in an effort to tame her and turn her into a 'proper' woman. And when her father returned to the keep, he was so exhausted that he didn't have the energy to find out why Nalia was so quiet… why she spent hours in her room, sobbing.

 He had asked Delcia to look after her, and it was her Aunt who had proposed the marriage to Isaea Roenall, a marriage that Nalia had bitterly opposed. She had protested, cried, screamed, but at the end of the day, she had been betrothed, with the say-so of her father. And with that authority given, Nalia had resigned herself to defeat.

 Until the trolls had attacked…

 She took another sip of wine. 

 She still remembered the pale face of her father, and the broken spine, and the gaping eyes. The smell was worse, from where Tor'Gal had started to chew into his stomach, releasing the acid within… seeing her father like that, his spirit gone completely, his kindness removed, his soul cast into the realms of death… it had pushed Nalia over the edge… and who had been there for her?

 Kathryn, the Bhaalspawn, who had held her, and told her that it would all be okay… that everything happened for a reason… that Gerald would be resting in the arms of his god forever, safe and at peace. 

 Without Kathryn, Nalia doubted she would have remained sane.

 And now, when she needed her friend close to her, she wasn't there… what was she meant to do? Could she declare war against the Council, and bring further war to Amn? Could she actually bring herself to do it, to tell the fighters loyal to her that they would have to bleed yet more, just to get the Council to take notice?

 No… she couldn't.

 Nalia stood, and was about to remove the amulets, rings and her magical items, when she noticed something that made her skin prickle… Anomen's snoring had stopped. Swallowing heavily, she whispered a simple spell… detect evil…

 The white light shivered in her palms, and then winked out. Nalia closed her eyes, and then a pain erupted within her skull, as she sensed the hatred, and evil present within her estate… the feeling was the same as something she had sensed back on her lands, in the hole… with Velissa.

 _Vampires!_

Nalia reached for her staff, and then uttered spells of protection, surrounding herself with magical wards and shields. Last time, she had taken her by surprise. This time, Velissa would face Nalia at her strongest.

 The wizard de'Arnise slammed the door open, and walked into the hall of her estate… it was pitch black, and there was a strange smell. Nalia incanted a brief spell and numerous globes of blue light floated from her free hand, illuminating the darkness, allowing her to view the horror that had claimed her estate.

 Zombies, skeletons… all lumbered towards her, a constant groaning leaving their rotted lips, their arms outstretched, seeking the warmth of mortal blood, of living blood, of fresh, red blood. Nalia glared at them, and snarled a spell.

 Fire erupted in front of them, scattering them and touching them on fire. Months ago, she would have panicked, but Nalia had grown used to fighting, once again… in fact, she was sure that her power had increased after the constant fighting. She was a new weapon, forged anew in the fires of war.

 Another gesture, and a brief power word- flames flew from the floor, surrounding her, burning any creature within her hall. There were many groans, as the undead creatures burned to ash, gripped and seized by the strength of her fire.

 Nalia commanded the fires to die down, and then she turned to face the door to the guest room. She could here faint grunts, and the banging of two feet on the floor, and also, she could hear the giggling of two little children.

 Kicking open the door, Nalia sent a bolt of pure white light soaring into the room, where it stayed, hovering in the air. The two children hissed. One of them rushed, faced contorted into something hideous and evil, towards Nalia. The other one- the girl –grabbed Anomen by the neck, and smiled contentedly as she stroked his skin.

 Staring directly at the child vampire's eyes, Nalia flicked her finger, and the boy was sent reeling with a simple spell. He shrieked in fury, and leaped towards her, seeking to close the gap. Nalia however, had other ideas.

 Thwack.

 She struck him with her staff, full force, and the power of the magic within the illithium was released. He fell to the floor, faced bloody, eyes wide with fear and awe. "How… how… before, we defeated you easily… we… we… we stopped you…"

 Nalia said simply. "I have been through death, vampire. I have seen what you cannot. I have stood before the Lord of Death, and I have escaped his judgement, something that you shall never do. It is time for you to die, so that the soul of the child may exist one again in peace. I drive the evil from you; I drive the creature from this body!"

 And she touched the boy on the forehead, murmured a spell, and watched him fall, limp, to the ground. Slowly, ever so slowly, the body started to crumble into dust, and Nalia bowed her head… the soul of the child would be judged, but at least now he could die like all were meant to. 

 The abomination against life itself had been banished.

 "Nasty lady killed my brother… now I will kill her friend!"

 Nalia turned to face the girl, who was holding Anomen's neck, and moving her fingers, ready to break the bone, and end his life. The wizard de'Arnise saw the fear in the eyes of her friend. Before the child could do anything, Nalia held her hand up, palm thrust forward, and spoke a simple word. 

 The girl froze.

 With all the strength she could muster, Nalia struck her with the staff, and sent her, stunned, to the floor. Hitting her again, Nalia heard the girl shriek, and her heart felt sorrow for a moment. But the girl would be free, once she was dead… she would be free, and she could die, like she was meant to.

 Sighing, Nalia uttered a spell, placed her finger on the child's forehead, and watched as her body crumbled to dust. As the dust swirled in the breeze, Nalia could hear a tone of disbelief echo… _how?_

Anomen was looking at her in awe, and Nalia sighed.

 She had increased in power, and now even those, her equals, were looking at her, awed… she shook her head, wondering why she felt so sad. Gesturing, she unleashed the bonds and gag that kept Anomen bound, and he stood.

 "Come, Anomen… I know where the mistress of these two children will be."

 For Nalia did know.

 The darkness of Velissa, whose blood flowed within Nalia's veins, was calling to her, its seductive evil assaulting her soul and mind. Nalia knew where the vampire was. She was in the Government District… in the Council building… aiming to murder the rulers of Amn.

 And Nalia smiled, for tonight, it would _truly _end.


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: An Ending**

_Council of Six, Athkatla, 27th Tarsakh, 1370 DR_

 Nalia and Anomen flashed into the main hall of the magnificent Council building, and were amazed at the air of silence and serenity there. It was almost pretty, the way that the endless business of government had finally stopped for the night. The servants were gone; the guards were at the doors outside.

 The braziers that provided the light for the building were burning low, but they cast plenty of light for Nalia to see where she was going. And even if she couldn't see, her senses would guide her. For she could sense that Velissa was nearby, she could sense her evil, a vile cancer on the mortal plane.

 She said, "Anomen, prepare yourself… she will be in the private quarters of the Council."

 Walking forward, silent from her training as a thief, she reached the hall that led to the private quarters. And here, she was able to here the sounded of a struggle, though they were very faint, barely detectable. The rooms of the Council were undoubtedly protected from eavesdroppers by wards of silence. That Nalia could hear any struggles at all meant that the battle within the room was fierce indeed.

 Anomen must have thought that same thing, for he gripped the Crom Faeyr tightly. Nalia offered him a smile. To have the disciplined warrior priest of Helm beside her instilled her with confidence. The evil of the vampire would fall before them… or at least, that was what Nalia hoped.

 They walked towards the door, and Nalia moved to open it, but frowned when she saw it was locked. She whispered a brief spell, _knock, _and stood back, waiting for it to pick the lock… but it was obviously protected from magical spells. Velissa knew Nalia too well, it seemed- she was ready for her.

 Or was she?

 How much did Velissa actually know about Nalia? Everyone knew she was a powerful archmage… few people other than her friends new she was also a skilled thief. Frowning, and offering a prayer to the gods, Nalia pulled out a lock-pick from her robes.

 Anomen said, "That won't work. If _magic _has failed, then lock-picking will fail as well."

 Nalia shrugged, "Its worth a try, at least."

 Eyes distant with concentration, Nalia moved the pick around deftly, letting her senses guide her as she moved the pick through the different counterbalances of the lock, moving one to the left, another to the right, pushing one forward. Finally, there was a satisfying click. Looking at Anomen with a cheeky grin, Nalia said, "I told you so."

 The cleric of Helm smiled gruffly, but did not say anything.

*

 It was utter chaos.

 The personal guards of the Council, wearing the finest armour that money could buy, and wielding magical weapons of power, were doing their best, fighting against a line of vampires, whose snarls and cries for blood were loud and piercing.

 Nalia saw Velissa fighting as well, and her hands tightened around the staff of the de'Arnise family in anger and hatred. As she and Anomen stood in the doorway, taking stock of their surroundings, she saw Velissa slice to the left and right with her black dirks.

 The weapons cut through the armour of the Council's guards with ease, and two of them fell to the floor, screaming with total agony as whatever vile magic in the dirks worked its way through their bloodstream.

 And then the way was open to the Council.

 Nalia saw one of them strike at Velissa with a powerful spell, and she raised an eyebrow. So the Council had a mage amongst their number… and a strong one at that. However, that did not stop Velissa, who crossed her dirks in front of her face. The daggers absorbed the magic easily.

 The Council moved back quickly, calling out for their bodyguards to help them. But one was too slow. Velissa stabbed both her dirks into the chest of one of the members, and knocked him –or her- to the floor. The vampire bit fiercely into the neck of the fallen Councillor, and when she looked up, her chin dripped with blood.

 Having drunk enough, Velissa advanced forward, and raised her dirk to stab the Council member who had been casting magic continuously at her, singing and causing the vampire to flinch. 

 Nalia roared out a spell, and the magic tore into Velissa, knocking her to the floor, and saving the Council member. The five remaining members looked to the door, and their eyes behind their masks shone with hope, and awe.

 "Begone, Velissa!"

 The vampire smiled strangely at Nalia: "Ah, daughter… welcome to my little celebration… I must admit, you have taken me by surprise. I did not think you had the power to break the warding I had on that lock. In fact, _no mortal _could have broken it with magic."

 Shrugging, Nalia held the pick into the air for Velissa to see. "I didn't use magic, fool. But I didn't expect you to know _everything. _After all, you've been dead now for… how many centuries? That long without a beating heart must start to rot your brain."

 Velissa snarled. "Your banter means nothing, Nalia. Today, you die."

 She shook her head. "No."

 Staring at the pick in her hand, Nalia whispered a long spell, and watched as the implement started to glow a brilliant blue. With a shout, Nalia threw it towards Velissa, and watched it soar, a gleaming agent of magic, towards the vampire.

 Velissa raised her dirks to block it, and it succeeded, but the smile of success on the face of the vampire faded, when one of the weapons crumbled to dust. Her eyes widened, and a look of fear registered. "You… you have grown, Nalia…"

 Nalia did not waste time. She saw Anomen swinging with his hammer, its blessed magic crumpling the undead within the room. The personal bodyguard of the Council were rallying around him, and, organised, started to push the vampires back. Nalia looked towards the Council, and saw that they were drawing weapons, readying spells and prayers, to help Nalia against Velissa.

 The vampire followed her gaze, and said, "Well, we can't allow _that, _can we?"

 She gestured, and from the ground, in the centre of a blazing circle of fire, sprang two pit fiends, who charged towards the Council members. Nalia turned her attention from them, hoping that they could hold off the demons.

 Nalia whispered a spell, and Velissa rushed towards her quickly, in an effort to kill Nalia quickly. But just as the pale hands of the vampire were a few inches from Nalia's face, time itself stopped. Taking the opportunity, Nalia released all her contingencies against Velissa, and surrounded herself with protections.

 Time returned to normal, and Nalia saw Velissa thrown back by a cavalcade of magical energy. She hissed in pain, but continued forward, trying her best to fight through the spells, to reach Nalia. Quickly, Nalia chanted another spell, and time stopped once again.

 This time, Nalia cast her more powerful spells, and watched as some of the massive slabs of marble that formed the floor broke apart, and soared into the air. They hurtled towards Velissa, who stood, furiously trying to resist the time stop.

 Having cast one spell, Nalia cast another, and a wide fissure of pure flame opened beneath the vampire's feet… the spell of time stop faded, and Nalia paled, as her spells did absolutely nothing. Velissa sprang into the air, faster than Nalia had seen _anything _move, and the stones smashed harmlessly into the opposite wall. 

 The fissure bubbled threateningly, but Velissa had avoided it by jumping upwards into the air. Nalia raised her staff- just in time, for the vampire landed, cat-like, on her feet, and attacked with her last dirk.

 The staff blocked the slash, and Nalia felt her arms tingle with the pressure of the attack.

 Gesturing, Nalia sent a whip of energy curling from her hands, around Velissa, the searing magic wrapping her in a bond of power. She struggled, and screamed as it burned, but then the bonds snapped apart.

 Velissa did not attack this time.

 She pointed at Nalia, and a flash of green light quivered towards her, a clerical finger of death. Nalia made her own gesture, and her own spell met with Velissa's, both cancelling the other out. Nalia was forced onto the defensive, when an earthquake started rumbling at her feet. 

 With a few words, made difficult by having to concentrate on not falling, Nalia levitated into the air, and hovered there gracefully, while the earthquake raged impotently. Velissa sighed, and made a slashing gesture.

 Purple and blue lights sizzled towards Nalia, who raised her hands in a gesture of surrender… but it meant anything but surrender. A glimmering white shield surrounded her, and the lights fizzled out of existence.

 Velissa narrowed her eyes, and Nalia saw flames from above her flash downwards, ready to burn her into ash. With a quick, frantic spell, Nalia sent the flames swirling through the windows of the rooms, harmless to her now.

 Soon, Nalia stopped analysing each spell, and instead became one with the energies playing around her. Velissa would send one spell, granted by the power of Loviatar, and Nalia would send it skittering away harmlessly, using the arcane formulas that tapped into the eternal power of the Weave.

 Around them, the last of the vampires had been killed, but there were no guardsmen left, only Anomen, who was bleeding from a vicious cut to his forehead. He moved towards the pit fiends that were close to killing the Council, and set into them, calling to Helm as he did so. Nalia sent a lance of black energy back towards Velissa.

 "Enough, Nalia… this duel will go nowhere…"

 Nalia paused, for there was a strange potency to her words. She shook her head, trying to clear the confusion that had suddenly set in. Her blood felt slightly too warm, and she was aware that she was feeling faint.

 "There… that's it… lower your defences… Nalia… you are a descendant of mine… you know that by now… do you know what power flows in your veins? You can use it… you can stand beside me, serving my mistress, and together we will kill the fools who seek to fetter you into chains… who seek to bind you to their will… think of the power…"  
 Shaking her head, Nalia managed to speak through the haze that was making her feel slow, and dull-witted. "No. I… I have no need of power… I serve Kathryn and Mystra, and their glory sustains me."

 Velissa chuckled, and took a step towards her. "Poor little baby… they don't care about you… they let you promise all you had left to Kelemvor, leaving you to fight alone against the forces of evil… leaving you to serve their interests… I _know _what you promised the Lord of Death… I know what will happen to you if you die."

 Nalia shook her head again, but still the strangeness would not fade. "N- No… I… I… I made the choice… I made the decision… when I die… I will remember what I have wrought here, what I have done for Amn."

 The vampire now stood right in front of Nalia, and her cold hands pulled her close. "Poor… innocent, Nalia… you don't have to die… think of me… I have not died, and I am centuries old… more than that… you'll never have to die… all you have to do is let me change you… let me taste your sweet blood once more, and then you may taste mine… and then, we can serve the true mistress together. Think of it… no more worrying. You can command the sheep of Amn, using power that none have seen. I will be your servant, for I cannot stand against your might, not when you will have the blood of the undead moving inside you."

 Her lips were close to Nalia's, and the wizard of Amn felt herself looking into the strange eyes of the vampire, and giving in… how good would it feel to have even more power… how good would it feel to kill those beneath her, merely because she could? Yes… she wouldn't have to worry about the poor, about their snivelling, weak demands…

 A tiny part of Nalia told her that these desires were not her own, but they were banished, confused and befuddled, into the recesses of her mind. Smiling, and letting Velissa kiss her, Nalia breathed in, and said…

 "Yes… I will serve Loviatar."

 The soft lips of Velissa brushed against Nalia's neck, and everything dark within her rose closer to the surface, and her breathing slowed. The world dimmed, as she waited, with a shivering expectation for the blissful kiss of undeath.

 But the kiss never came, for the world snapped back into sharp, merciless reality, as Velissa was struck on the head by a holy symbol of Helm. Nalia heard the cry from Anomen, as he called on Helm: "Back, evil of undeath, back!"

 Nalia shivered, as the confusion and strangeness that had held her vanished. She froze with revulsion, seeing how she had nearly given in to the vampire. Taking a step back, she saw Velissa laugh loudly. "Poor cleric… that won't work. Not now… you should have saved your paltry Council, and let me have Nalia. You have ensured that she will die, now, and that her soul will exist in torment for all eternity."

 Anomen said, "Never! Where there is righteousness, evil shall be driven back!"

 Velissa flinched slightly, as _something _made her move back, but then that something was gone. She stared at Anomen with shock. "How… how could you do _anything _with my barrier up? I have _blocked _the gods!"

 Anomen held up the holy symbol again, and concentrated on pulling all his might to the fore. He fixed Velissa with a stare, and shouted: "By Helm, get ba-"

 Nalia shrieked, as the pale hands of the vampire grasped him by the neck, cutting of his prayers. She frantically tried to cast a spell, but it failed- she had no concentration left to cast a spell. Anomen looked at her, and smiled. Then the smile faded, and he fell to the floor, his neck broken, his head lying at an odd, jarred angle.

 The vampire looked at the cleric of Helm oddly, and said, "Farewell… your faith was strong indeed… stronger than any I have seen. No mere cleric could have penetrated my block… no… maybe I should have focused on _you _instead of my weak descendant."

 She turned to face Nalia. "But it doesn't matter. He's dead now… and to make sure he stays that way…"

 Fire flashed from her fingers, surrounding Anomen's body, and, like the maws of a hungry beast, tossing him upwards and around, ferociously tearing into his skin. Nalia blinked away tears, as she saw all that was left of Anomen- white ash- fall lightly to the floor.

 "You see, Nalia… no-one can stop me… no-one. Not even the gods themselves can break this barrier… no-one can. And now it is time for you to go to your eternal torture chamber, with the knowledge that you have done nothing for Amn, but delay the inevitable."

 Nalia was too numbed to do anything. Velissa smiled, almost comfortingly, and she placed the black dirk at Nalia's throat. "I would say it will all be over, Nalia… but for you, it has only just begun… goodbye."

 Nalia saw the tense of muscles, and felt the dirk move, and she prayed to Kathryn, begging her for aid. And aid _did _come. Nalia was thrown backwards to the floor, and in her place, stood the Goddess of All Song. The dirk cut the throat of the Goddess, and golden blood poured to the floor. Velissa's eyes widened, and then she grinned triumphantly. 

 "See! I have killed a Goddess!"  
 Kathryn passed her hand before her own throat, and the wound closed over. Staring at Velissa, Kathryn said, "You have not killed a Goddess. You have _angered_ a goddess. You believe you are all-powerful? You believe that your power can stay that of those faiths opposing you? It has just been demonstrated that your power could be cracked by a mortal… think how easily it can be _destroyed _by a god!"

 The fury of her words shook the room, and Velissa hissed in fear, trying to run from Kathryn, who held pulsing energy in her hand. Pink light, that hummed, a single note, shot through the air towards the vampire.

 But then it was torn into many pieces, and Nalia saw Loviatar descend, carrying a nine-tailed whip. She lashed it towards Kathryn, who drew a bright longsword, and then slashed through the thongs of the whip.

 Nalia moved backwards, as the two gods duelled with each other, both protecting their favoured servants. Looking towards Velissa, Nalia saw that she was huddled against the wall, fearful. Perhaps Loviatar had not protected Velissa from _all _the affects of Kathryn's magic… 

 Struggling to her feet and fighting against weariness that threatened to crash in, Nalia leant on her staff. She hobbled forward, chanting slowly a single spell. Velissa saw her advancing, and tried to move her own hands into the motions of a defensive spell, but somehow, she couldn't.

 Green light struck Velissa on the forehead, as Nalia unleashed a finger of death. Loviatar flinched, as the vampire shrieked in pain. Her eyes started to glow a brilliant red, and she grunted again and again. Nalia saw her eyes widened in disbelief, and she turned to Loviatar. "Sorry… mistress… sorry…"

 A roar of rage, and Loviatar disappeared.

 Kathryn looked at Velissa for a long time, as did Nalia… the vampire was becoming more and more pale, the red glow was fading, and he grunts and groans were growing quieter. The skin crusted slightly, and Velissa rasped, as if weak. Before their eyes, the form of the vampire crumbled, from skin to a dull grey dust. 

 And then, carried by a breeze that wasn't present, the dust started to stir across the floor of the room, slow and lethargic, as the soul of Velissa faded into the Hells, ready for judgement at the hands of her mistress.

 A judgement that Nalia knew would be hard.

 "Nalia…"

 Kathryn sounded weak, and Nalia looked up. The Goddess of All Song was staring at the white ashes that were scattered within and around his armour and his magical hammer… Nalia saw the Bhaalspawn kneel beside the ashes, her eyes watering.

 Tear after golden, illuminated tear, fell, and Nalia heard a melody of supreme sadness swirling in the air around them. Slowly, Nalia, crying herself, moved so that she knelt beside Kathryn. The goddess looked at her then, and she felt the wisdom and power, and sadness, that were locked within those eyes.

 "Anomen…"

 Pink light sprang from the fingertips of the goddess, and Nalia realised that her friend was trying to raise Anomen from the dead. The ashes rose into the air, and slowly, tried to form the shape of a man. Nalia saw the shape, and recognised it immediately as Anomen. 

 The figure of ash clutched at his throat, as it trying to speak, but then, as if the act was too much, the ash collapsed, losing all suggestion of a solid form, falling lazily to the floor… Kathryn sobbed then, audibly, and more tears fell, gleaming with the immortal power of the gods. Nalia, not knowing what else to do, put her arms around Kathryn, and felt the solid arms of the avatar enfolding her.

 "Kathryn… I… I'm sorry…"

 Nalia remained beside the goddess, and both wept. A new dawn rose over Amn that day, tainted by sadness, but still holding hope nonetheless. For hours, the goddess and the archmage remained beside each other, crying, sobbing, their tears falling to the floor, mortal silver blending with immortal gold.

 And as they cried, the soul of Anomen was sped towards the realm of Kelemvor.


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Councillor**

_Spellhold, 10th Mirtul, 1370 DR_

 Algerias stood before the inner council of the Cowled Wizards, feeling naked without the cowl that normally obscured his face. It was a rule that none might be cowled before the presence of the High Cowl, the one wizard whose face had never been revealed to any wizard lower than him… and there were none higher than him.

 "My lord, this day, the Council has recognised Nalia as the newest member of Amn's government. The people celebrate, and there are such parties throughout the nation that it is obvious how much she is loved by the populace. The cousin of Anomen Delryn, the young Elisabeth Delryn, has taken rulership of the estates of the knight, and has sworn her house's loyalty and friendship to that of de'Arnise. Firecam has returned to Athkatla, now that the south is completely at peace, and he has brought with him the pikemen…"

 There were a few nods at this, but none ventured any opinion. Algerias, taking control of his fear, continued forward. He was well aware that every member of this inner council could kill him in an instant, disintegrating him, and casting his dust into the oceans around Brynnlaw.

 "Nalia has announced that she will be the first Open Councillor of Amn, taking her cue from the customs in Waterdeep. Her decision has been met with admiration from nearly everyone within our nation, even those who believe in the firm continuation of tradition."

 Algerias sighed, and continued. "Emissaries have arrived from Waterdeep, Baldur's Gate and Tethyr, whose leaders wish to meet the first leader of Amn who has the courage of showing her face. This day, it is believed that alliances will be signed, and that the cities of Riatavin and Trailstone will enter back into the fold, swayed by the diplomacy of Nalia, who returned from the two cities three days ago."

 Silence remained. "Nalia has not confided in me yet, but it is well known that she wishes to reform our order, so that it becomes fairer. I have overheard her talking, saying that she is unhappy about our control over Spellhold, and the fact that new wizards now stay within the fortress… and… forgive me, my lord, but I agree with her."

 The High Cowl sniggered. "You… _agree_ with her, Algerias? Your brother held no such… tendencies. I am afraid that you are the weaker of the two… Nalia's pretty face and charismatic words have swayed you from the true pursuit of magical power, and the protection of this nation."

 Algerias said, "I suppose I must be the weaker wizard, because I am still alive, and my brother is dead… and I assure you, no pretty face would turn my heart. This order was founded to protect Amn. In that it failed, leaving Nalia to fight alone. It was founded in pursuit of magical power- in that, it has failed also, for you all now wish more power, more control over the nation, control that we cannot rightfully have."

 A long silence gripped the hall. "It is a pity that you feel this way, Algerias… but know that we have listened to your words. You may leave us now. Do not expect to come here again… we will find one more… _reliable _to bring us information. Farewell."

 Panic rose in Algerias' chest, and he cast a teleportation spell so quickly, that the wizards in the hall were surprised. One said to the High Cowl, "Why did you let him escape, when he can tell Nalia so much?"

 The High Cowl said simply, "I am tired. We can kill him at our leisure… let us just be thankful that he was not party to our involvement with Velissa… and the one that recommended such a move must know now that I am extremely displeased. Our actions in murdering the knights of the Order were meant to break the Radiant Heart, but instead, they have just grown stronger. Now, more boys than ever train to become knights, so that they may follow the ideas of that _fool, _Delryn…"

 One of the wizards, the one who had suggested that they ally with Velissa, sighed. "Forgive me, my lord… but what else could we have done? Really, we have done our best… and we have done extremely well. We remain, and we will challenge all that the de'Arnise bitch does. She will have a tough fight on her hands, if she wishes to break our power."

 The leader of the Cowled Wizards nodded, his eyes narrowed in the comfort of his cowl. "Yes… she will have a fight… and no amount of divine intervention, or political standing, will save her from me on the day we duel… for then we will see which archmage in Amn is more powerful."

 The High Cowl smiled to himself, in anticipation.

 Yes, he could taste the pleasure he would get when he finally murdered Nalia, and ended her moaning about righteous justice, and equality for all. Slowly, the high council teleported away, to continue with their secret lives, as clerks, merchants, fortune tellers… so many disparate trades, but the high council was united by one desire.

 Power.

 And now a new desire had been added: the desire to defeat Nalia.

*

 The Council building was packed with dignitaries, servants, and rich lords and merchants. Nalia de'Arnise sat on a golden throne, with the five council members behind her. They still wore their masks, but Nalia's face was bare, showing a pretty face, smiling and happy.

 Outside, she could hear the cheering of the citizens of Athkatla, and the singing of the soldiers who had served in Murann. They were remembering the speech she had made, where she had promised that new dawn for Amn… and now that new dawn had come, and Nalia was sitting at the head of the Six.

 Reforms would come, and the poor would find their struggles easier, as Nalia had sworn to champion their cause, even if it meant her ridicule, or even death. Nalia sat, and waited for the ceremony to finish. The High Priest of Tyr finished his litany, and he placed a golden circlet on her head, the crown of imperial Amn, which hadn't lain on a mortal brow for many years…

 Nalia de'Arnise, first Open Councillor of Amn, was happy. The country was slowly recovering. Keldorn had ensured the south was well-ordered. Bandits that normally descended on a nation ravaged by war had been harshly dealt with by the warriors Keldorn had with him.

 A silence fell over the hall, as the High Priest of Tyr declared that Nalia was crowned leader of the Council, the Open Councillor of Amn. She nodded graciously, and then sat on her throne. The Council had voted on several rewards that were due to those who had fought for Amn… and it was up to Nalia to give them.

 "Valygar Corthala…" 

 The ranger walked forward, and bowed gracefully. Nalia smiled at him, and then continued. "For the efforts you have undertaken to protect the south of Amn from enemies, we have decided to reward you with the title Chief Inspector of Athkatla. This title confers upon you estates within the city and a yearly salary of fifty thousand gold. Furthermore, we have taken this opportunity to give you one hundred thousand golds, which you may spend on your lands in the Umar Hills."

 Valygar bowed. "My thanks, Councillors… your generosity does the nation you rule proud. Know that Valygar of House Corthala is your loyal subject. My blades will be yours should you need them."

 Nalia nodded, and waited for Valygar to return to the crowd. "Keldorn Firecam, your reward is long overdue. For many years, you have fought for the Order, and for Amn, and this year you have aided me in my fight against the ogre magi's empire. You have run the south of Amn alone for the past month, and for that we have seen fit to reward you with the title, Lord of Murann. You will govern that city, and protect your holdings from pirates and raiders. We will hope that you can restore the city to its former beauty, but also hope that you will see to the well-being of its people first."

 Keldorn smiled, and bowed. "Lady Nalia… your generosity is… unmatched."  
 She grinned, and gestured for him to move on. "Prelate Heribert, of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart. The Council of Six acknowledges you as leader of the knights, and confers upon you the title, Defender of Faith. It is your duty to ensure that all churches within Amn have equal rights, in the interest of neutrality. However, it is also your duty to defend the city from crusades, to protect from sacrifices and bloodshed. With the Chief Inspector, you will make sure that _all _faiths adhere to the law."

 Heribert, the youngest ever Prelate of the Order, nodded earnestly, and beat his chest with his hand. "I will serve you till the last breath of my body, Lady Nalia. Know this now, my predecessor thought of you highly, and I too am awed by your sense of duty. The Order shall be a blade for justice in this nation, and it will remain so for many years, I hope. And for that, we have you to thank."

 Nalia smiled graciously, and Heribert moved on. Next, Nalia called, "Jaheira, Grand Druid as recognised by Silvanus himself. You are hereby given state acknowledgement of your leadership over the druidic faith in Amn. A grove will be built within the city, to be administered in the sake of Balance. In every major city, there will be a grove to the beauty of nature. We also commend upon you, the title Lady of the Forest. It will be your duty to be this nation's liaison with the elves of Suldanessllar, and to keep secure control over the land left to us within that nation."

 Jaheira nodded, and remained silent, something that told Nalia she was in complete shock. She moved away, and then Nalia faced Imoen, who blushed, and said, "Nalia, I don't really want anything. Me and Apheyr are just gonna travel round a bit, possibly visit Candlekeep… I haven't told Tethtoril how stuffy he is for a long time."

 Nalia grinned. "I knew you would say that, Immy… but I am afraid that you will not escape without some recognition. Imoen of Candlekeep, daughter of Bhaal, you have served Amn loyally, even though you are by birth, of the Gate's regions. You have saved this land from peril countless times, and have defeated demons, dragons, liches… every kind of evil, in the interests of our people. You have said you wish no reward, but I am afraid I must give you something. So, henceforth, Imoen, you shall be a citizen of Amn. From this moment, you will be counted as Imoen de'Arnise, formally adopted into my House, and my sister. Should anything happen to me, then you will inherit my position as ruler of the de'Arnise keep and lands."

 Imoen gaped, and, breaking every single nuance of ceremony, she walked towards Nalia, and wrapped her in a hug. Both of them were crying with happiness, and as they hugged, the crowd in the Council hall, started to clap, slowly at first, then rising into an incredible crescendo.

 Nalia de'Arnise smiled, and her sister smiled back.


	40. Chapter Forty

**Chapter Forty: Love**

_Realms of the Dead, 10 Mirtul, 1370 DR_

 Anomen knelt before Kelemvor, who was looking at him strangely. "Anomen Delryn, you have not called the name of any god, and are therefore one of the Faithless… have you anything to say, before I must judge you?"

 The cleric of Helm bowed his head, and then said. "As you know, I am a cleric of Helm. He is my master, first and foremost… but, coming to these realms, I have realised that I have a duty, and duty is what my Lord Helm recognises most. I have come to ask you if I might trade places… if I may exchange my soul for someone else's."

 The Lord of the Dead frowned. "You wish to take the place of Nalia de'Arnise?"

 Anomen nodded. "Yes… I would like to offer myself to the demons, so that they cannot take her pure soul. She has done more than her duty- she has died, she has lost those close to her… I would not have her suffer in death as well."

 Kelemvor said, "You would give yourself into torture?"

 A cringing voice cut into their conversation. "_You cannot, Kelemvor! Nalia will be mine!"_

Anomen saw the Goddess Loviatar standing in the shadows, and flinched at her anger. Kelemvor faced the Lady of Pain, and said, "She will not be yours, no matter what I decide, Loviatar. Nalia promised herself to the _demons, _not to you. She will be sent to hell, where she will be trapped by _demons _for eternity. You will be forbidden to travel anywhere near her… now, _begone _from my realms."

 Loviatar snarled, and then turned into the shadows, and disappeared. 

 Kelemvor looked at Anomen, and said, "Kathryn will not be happy. She loves you Anomen, and wished to visit you in Helm's care…"

 Anomen said, "It is my choice. I am within my rights to ask to be exchanged."

 The God of the Dead sighed. "Yes, I know… and I will honour your request… but are you sure you have contemplated what you will do? Nalia took that vow knowing she would have to spend eternity in torture… what gives you the right to break her agreement?"

 He sighed. "Because I love her as well. I would not have her in pain… I want her to be happy, and to be _rewarded _for her actions on the planes, not cast into the torture chambers, to be the plaything of demons!"

 "Very well… Anomen Delryn, you will be sent into the demonic pits of the ninth hell, and there, you will spend all eternity in hellish torment. The name of Nalia de'Arnise has been removed from my rolls of judgement, and the name Delryn is now marked. Farewell, knight of Helm… farewell…"

*

 The demons had stripped him of his clothing, and, with scaled, clawed fingers, stroked his naked flesh, crooning and laughing, mocking his mortal form. Shame and embarrassment rose within Anomen, which was only made worse when whips tipped with burning coals were slashed across his back. 

 At the same time, a tiny demon was slicing into his chest, marking the symbol of hell with utmost care, taking the time to cut nerves. The blood dripped like a sea, and Anomen shrieked as he writhed on the stone table, struggling against his bonds.

 He called to Helm, to Kathryn, but they could not break this punishment… Anomen had taken Nalia from pain, but had put himself at the mercy of the demons that now took pleasure from inflicting pain. One demon had brought a small girl into the chamber, and was making Anomen watched as they killed her, again, and again, before his eyes.

 Anomen wanted to help her, but he could not, and the demons laughed every time he tried to move, every time he cried out to Helm, or Kathryn. Snakes writhed their way around his body, their coldness accentuating the shame of his nakedness. Spiders teemed, their sharp fangs slicing into his skin.

 Almost every torture known to man, and many others were inflicted upon him. They degraded him, made him obey their every whim. They laid the corpse of the girl on his stomach, and kept her there as she rotted, maggots eating their way through her face, which was still fixed in garish horror.

 And still they whipped him, again and again, shrieking with laughter, drinking his tears from goblets of bone, capturing his sweat and blood, and licking their fingers, savouring the taste of mortal weakness.

 They violated Anomen, again, and again, forcing him, with collars of mind control, to declare his love for them, to declare his eternal obedience. And then, when they were taken off, they showed Anomen images of what he had done while under their control. 

 And the worst thing was, that was Anomen lay there, he knew there would never be any release, that there would never be any escape from this place… and, he sobbed as he lay alone, for the few moments when the demons left him, to feast on the flesh of innocents, he called out for Kathryn, his lover.

 A single note of harmony sang through his tortured pain, and he saw the Bhaalspawn standing in front of him, her white hair just as he remembered it, her eyes glistening with tears, and her lips parted slightly.

 _Anomen… my love…_

 He gasped in a shaking breath, and said, "Kathryn… I… I love you, Kathryn… but… but I had to help… Nalia… I… I loved her… as well… forgive me, my lover… forgive me, please? I have… dreaded your sadness as much as this… please do not hate me…"

 Kathryn shook her head, and a tear touched her pale, beautiful cheek. _No, Anomen… I could never hate you… remember the day when I appeared to you, when you had rescued, Nalia… I told you then… I told you that your promise might be broken… but I also told you that I would always love you…_

The knight of Helm smiled, and he drew in a shuddering breath, made worse by the tears and tightness of his throat. "Thank… thank you… Kathryn… I… I… am not… worthy… of your… your… your love…"

 _Oh, Anomen! Of course you are! You are the bravest, the most chivalrous, the noblest knight I know. You dazzled me when I was a mortal, and you dazzle me even now, with your beauty, with the sacred holiness of your soul… you are worthy of greater things than this, my love."_

Anomen smiled. "I… I… know that… at least… Nalia will never… suffer this… ever…"

 Kathryn nodded. _Yes. And for that, you should be happy. You have saved her, Anomen… you have saved her from this pain._

 There were raucous sounds then, as the demons returned from the pits below. Anomen knew sudden fear, and all trace of his control faded. "Oh, gods… gods… Kathryn, _please _help me… I can't… I can't _stand_ this anymore… I _can't _stand it!"

 The Goddess of All Song bowed her head. _There is one thing I can do._

 "What… what is… that?"

 _I can kill you._

 A broken sob broke through the noise of hell when she said that, and Anomen saw her golden tears streaming down, touching the stone table where he lay. He said, "I am already dead, Kathryn…"

 _I can make it so that you are killed even here. Your soul would cease to exist… you would die, never to come back… but you would be free from this… there is… only one complication, Anomen._

"What…?"

 _I love you too much._

 The knight smiled faintly, yet the tears still fell. "Kathryn… please… kill me… deliver me from this wretched place… I need… you…"

 The goddess nodded, and walked over until she stood over him. She leaned over, and kissed him on the lips. Anomen felt a jolt as her divine beauty entered his soul, and as their hearts connected for that one brief moment, Anomen felt the pounding force of her love, as it broke down all barriers between them.

 She withdrew, and Anomen saw, in her hand, a beautiful red flower, shining with the powerful magic of her love. He saw her place the flower in his hands, and he clenched onto it with all his might.

 "I love you, Kathryn!"

 A brief, sad little smile played across the face of the goddess. She walked over, placed a hand on each side of Anomen's head, and then kissed him softly on the lips as well. Anomen stared into her brilliant eyes, so much more vivid than they had been when she was mortal.

 _I love you too._

And with those words, Kathryn sent a pink energy through Anomen, sending him into a peaceful sleep. With tears glistening, and wretched sobs tearing at her heart, she sent lightning against Anomen. Sleeping, he didn't feel anything, but awake, and forced to kill her only love, Kathryn shrieked with agony.

 _I love you._

Anomen, barely realising it, faded into oblivion.

 _I love you…_

 Kathryn screamed, and, across the heavens, the stars shimmered, each one giving their own eulogy for the knight of Helm…

 _I love you…_

 All across Toril, the bards and singers raised their voices, and every person was gripped by the power of Kathryn, and it was _her _voice that sang across the Realms, the song of their Undying Love reaching into the sky, drawing the attention of gods.

 _I love you…_

 From every temple of Kathryn, on every statue of the Goddess, golden tears fell, touching the floor. Where each golden tear touched the ground, a brilliantly glowing red flower sprouted, noble and proud, and brimming with the strength of her love.

 _I love you, Anomen Delryn, Knight of my heart._


End file.
